Hands

Poem By Thelma S. Pierce McBurney

Hands are a thing of beauty
When they are clasped in prayer
Hands are a thing of fury
When involved in deeds they shouldn't dare.
Hands are a thing of justice
When dealing in play that's fair
Hands can be so gentle
When tussling a small child's hair
Hands can be creative
When designing with a flair
Hands can be so loving
When for the sick they care
But hands that have no meaning
These are the hands that are rare
Your hands are so gentle
And oh so very dear
When you hold me and caress me
And your hands they draw me near.

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Other poems of THELMA S. PIERCE MCBURNEY

Red

Red as the breast of a Robin
Red as the petals of a rose
Red as the rays of the evening sun
Red as a firelight glows

A Prayer

I pray that I may ever be
As good as God wants me to be
A mother tender, a friend true
Living a he bids us do