My Father's Hands

I look at them in front of me My hands old and wrinkled as I see And I remember seeing my father’s hands As he toiled away and made his plans My hands look like his as I turn them over back and palm Familiar as they should be with no real charm But they remind me of him and how he was with me As I looked and learnt about life from him you see But we are different in how we toiled As he stood tall whilst WW2 flowed and boiled For in his hands he carried a gun for us And in the peace he never made a fuss Now I did my part in wearing the blue Always wanting him to be proud of what I’d do So here I am an older man you see With these hands that remind of his legacy. © Paul Warren Poetry