I look at my hands, and wish they were manicured,
Nicely shaped nails, rich cream on them poured,
Half moons showing at each nail’s lovely base,
And hands soft as silk, full of beauty and grace.
My hands are large hands, hands not at all pretty,
Nails that break when I do things, that is a pity,
But over the years I could never wear gloves to work,
And of doing certain duties one cannot really shirk.
On my hands no half moons show, shimmer or shine,
No manicured nails, or smooth hands are ever mine,
They are beginning to wrinkle and their age show,
Sometimes I want to leave them at home when out I go.
But as I look at them and all they are willing to do,
All I have done with them all my busy life through,
I should not worry at all what they look like today,
For they have served me so well in every way.
May they continue to work at many good things
Still write poems and serve for the joy it brings,
Please hands still stretch out in kindness and love,
Though you are not soft and silky like a turtle dove.
M An Margetson © June 26, 2001