Hands

There is the kind that tills the soil... And gathers in the grain
... And one that serves the factory... Or operates a train...
A hand that plays piano keys... Or moves the pen to write...
And one that clasps in fond hello... Or doubles up to fight
... There is the hand that leads a child... Or stiffens in salute
... That sweeps and scrubs and cooks the meals... Or polishes
a boot... Yes, there are many human hands... According to
their kind... And what they strive to say or do... And what
they hope to find... The hands that steal and plunder or...
That beg for food each day... And those that close in love's
embrace... Or gently fold and pray.

James J. Metcalfe