WITH THESE HANDS

[Maureen K Clifford]

not sure if I ever posted this one as it is an oldy but I came across it in my files today and thought why not.



WITH THESE HANDS.


With these hands I've held a weak old ewe who lay dying,
picked up her lamb so tiny, who beside her was crying,
wrapped it snug and warmed the bottle, fed it whilst it was lying
held secure and safe and loved within these hands.

With these hands I've slapped a child in anger and frustration,
waved them around angrily displaying irritation.
Pointed dictatorially solving the problems of the nation.
Held them in prayer infrequently, these sorry hands.

With these hands I've separated two dogs that were bluing.
In younger days these hands shared in the romance and wooing.
Like two turtle doves, with feathers puffed, both billing and cooing.
All of these and more I've done with my two hands.

Wallpapered, hammered, painted – often dirtied these old hands.
They've worked out in the shearing sheds, chipped weed from farming lands.
They've even played the timbrel in the Sally Army band.
I'm amazed that they're still working, these old hands.

With these hands I've typed a million thoughts, and most of them in rhyme.
Worked every day for sixty years. Gave them too little time.
They rarely get a manicure, much less scented cream divine
and yet undaunted they continue on, these hands.

But the day's no doubt approaching when their fluttering will still.
When they will lie limp and lifeless and no longer do my will.
It's my hope the Lord will then look down, and say ' she's paid her bill'
and will send my old dogs down to me with 'Fetch' command.

Then again I'll hold each dog close with these hands.

Maureen Clifford © 02/10

[Heather]

The things we take for granted hey Maureen?

Heather