These Hands
I wring my hands in the winter cold
for they are worn and getting old
were these the hands that held my babes
so busy and useful in younger days
strong and fine, now worn with age.
I can see my young hands from the past
hands lifting little ones, strong and fast
hands making healthy meals to last
hands filling tubs to splash and play
hands making meals, folding hands to pray.
Sure as the seasons come and go
these hands have weathered the years to show
how capable they were, and even now
with children grown, I think of how
my hands were blessed to serve somehow.
8/30/2020
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.
