Aged Hands
She waits with her aged, folded hands
Hands with deep veins and those age spots
Hands that picked and shelled beans so grand
After her trips to garden plots
Where the sun bakes those who have-not
Only they, her hands understand
Watching; sips tea with bergamot
She waits with her aged, folded hands
Now she rests, thinking of coastlands
As a young one within earshot
Bored, thinking inheritance lands
Hands with deep veins, many age spots
Keep on loving, like it or not
As she toiled in the garden and
Fed hungry mouths with money-squat
Hands that picked and shelled beans so grand
Rest sometimes, and understands
Restlessness of youth in Camelot
Seeking their own life, in fairyland
After her trip to the garden plot
She felt quite ill, but did not stop
She needs to tell all, life she understands
As they lower her in the plot
Her dress neatly lays and demands
Her aged, folded hand
Written: June 18, 2022
First one like this posted on soup.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
