JB ( / )

My Father's Hands

My Father's Hands

As I look upon my father's hands

now a spotted, wrinkled road map,

that time, sun and sweat,

have hardened them to a painted tortoise shell.

Those, the same hands that I once feared,

and yet at the same time so gentle

that they held my tiny hand deep within.

I feared nothing as if he was the grace of God.

Will they still remember me?

My Father's hands.

9 April 2008

User Rating: 4,8 / 5 ( 6 votes ) 6

Comments (6)

this is an emotional but a beautiful write sis. I love this
A splendid poem JoAnn! Thank you for sharing, a joy to read indeed! ! *10*! ! Best wishes! Friend Thad
Beautiful poem JoJo, way to go... Andy 10
Just Simply Beautiful. Thank you for sharing and have no doubt you have jolted a lot of memories for people. Regards Craig.
I am sure that your father's hands will remember you. Beautiful poem. Shine on, JoJo. Love, Sandra
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