Hands..to Reveal who we are (poetry of the Ages)
A face may tell a story, well, yet our hands speak as chapters in a book,
Some hands show aging, others youth, much conveyed, in how they look.
The hand of a worker, So calloused, bare, formed by sweat, of their wear,
Hands of a writer, though guarded, to fare, reveal the truths, all to share.
Athletes' hands, in courage used, each strong, though battered and bruised,
Farmer's hands, gnarled, pay our dues, life's blessings, in how they're used.
Foundry workers, red, burned and gaunt, hands bandaged, all pain to haunt,.
Ballerinas, with delicate hands, to flaunt, two dancing feet, us soon to taunt.
A typist's hands, with fingers to cramp, types on, in late hours, such a champ.
An out of doors man's hands, shriveled and damp, in the rain, he must camp.
A bee keeper's hand, a blister on one finger, in his zest, zapped with a stinger.
A cartoonist's hand, smudged with ink, to linger, finds a caption, to be a ringer.
A comedian's hands, both full of jest, manages in jokes, to get fear off his chest.
Surgeons' hands, so careful and blessed, just to cope, and in being so stressed.
A policeman's hands, each full of care, as directed by laws, so little room to spare.
A teacher's hands, with great knowledge to share, gives to all, a heart so rare.
A pastor's hands, so firm and both, true, passes on scripture, sent to me and you,
Devoted followers, a chosen faith, to pursue, acts of hands seen, in what they do.
The Savior's hands, in performing a great deed, for each life, plants a good seed.
Life's miracles, hungry souls, to feed, by his damaged hands, by nails, to bleed.
All rights reserved and under copyright 2014
More by this Author
Our existence to depend upon everyone...
Always held dearly in our memories the year round, especially at Christmas...
I try to be a source of hope and give ways in which neuron growth can be promoted in persons who have MS and show how some research may well help to control and prevent MS.