Touch your left hand with your right,
Feel the rough skin.
Feel life's lumps and bumps.
Feel the warmth,
and feel the history.
Feel the hand touched your mother's womb,
held on to your mother's breast as you first fed.
Held on to her for security,
held onto her for love,
and clung on as you took your first steps.
Feel the hand that touched the hands of loved ones,
unwrapped Christmas presents,
and passed sweets to your lips for your mouth to enjoy!
These hands painted and created,
destroyed and discovered,
fought and defended.
They helped you grow,
and through education helped shaped you.
You took these hands out into the world as 'real life' began.
'The university of hard knocks',
discovering who you were,
what you stood for,
what you did and didn't like,
who you loved and who you didn't.
These hands held the hand of someone special.
Now these hands have grown old.
Their skin has grown loose,
their fingers are callused.
A groove where a ring sits,
the occasional ache.
Life's scars bare witness,
to the fun,
They were there when you fell,
reaching out to protect you,
and they're still here,