Travel Shorts

Half Sonnet: Hands  

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Many hands make light work

your hands can't work anymore.

Every day I see mine change;

toughened, calloused, cracked with age.

And every day I see yours again;

living on through mine.

Don't let their hands hurt you child.

Posted in ageing, death, hands, life, sonnet by Unknown