My worn old hands

Now I look at my worn old hands

I wonder at time’s moving sands

Marvel at all they and I have done 

With such countless rounds of the sun      

I sought comfort at my mother’s breast

Pointing to what I wanted best

Then touching my fathers nose

Or pushing away a medicine dose

My childish digging the beaches sand   

Splashing in the sea hand in hand        

Patting and stroking the family dog 

Or catching a bewildered frog        

Sneaking a touch of my classmate’s curls

Forgetting I didn’t like such girls

Then later after holding one tight

Started thinking of our wedding night

Touch is such an important gift

The heart then soars with such a lift

These hands drew and wrote so many words

Setting my mind free to fly as the birds

They wrote of adventure and of fable

Of love and honesty as I was able

I wonder at time’s moving sands

As I look at my worn old hands

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