The Hands of Fate
I look at the back of my hand, sun-worn and wrinkled.
That has held the sword, that has held the plow,
and held the Bible.
These hands that have held on to what they could,
letting the rest slip-away, to reside in my heart.
Watching a nervous hand reach out for...
The hand of friendship, the hand of marriage,
and the hand of God!
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