These Hands

These hands were made for holding, But they’re empty all the same, And I’ve loved this boy for ages, But he doesn’t know my name. These hands were made for holding, But when all is said and done, I honestly can never tell If I’ve lost of he’s won. These hands were made for holding, But the world outside is cold, So they hide inside my pockets And won’t don a band of gold. These hands were made for holding, But I doubt they ever will. I can picture them all wrinkled, Craving others’ fingers, still. These hands were made for holding, But they only clasp thin air, Yet I cannot help but wonder What would happen If I dared.