Handle It

Handle It! and thus the dirty hands crept ever close searching for neither penny nor for pound kept down by those of class who never rose above the station birth to them had bound. cold eyes that deign to gaze upon such need immune to all the vagaries of life hard hearts that clutch despair within their greed pretentiously saluting drum and fife soft hands of kneaded dough and watered soup thin sliced bread spread liberally with love scrapes pots bottom in hope of one more scoop gentle lights, empty plates, no parting hugs proud hands that hold the secrets of our wars patrol the night lest we might see our flaws 11/18/2016 submitted to – Sonnet - Poetry contest