Poem By Hobby ...
Hands pray for strength, lest he fall to sorrow,
His bent digits clad in worn and tired skin
unyielding loyalty engrained within,
penetrating bone of fingers narrow,
crippled, affliction in blood and marrow,
hard labour accepted for love of kin,
dedicated, his patience never thin
faithful to his word, his honour, his trow.
For his brother's dream, his own slowly bled,
all hope of his artistry lost for sure
but admired by all, past long fallen sands,
timeless honor captured in strokes of lead
a sketched story so simple and so pure,
a brother’s love clasped, in ‘Durer’s Hands’