Monday, November 8, 2010


A child's hand does grasp it's mother
As the mother cries and smiles
Her baby born at last through pain
Yet worth each pain is found her son

A mother's hand does lift her child
Just a step, but soon one more
The child walks, and father smiles
Proud of his dear baby boy

A friendly hand is offered soon
As the child grows up tall
He must find his place in life
With the friends he meets and makes

A simple hand that offers love
Gently give to needing ones
He can save them from their pain
Feed them, clothe them, heal the wrongs

A loving hand does hold a ring
A simple love that hopes for "yes"
When it comes, relief is shown
A kiss to seal them to each other

A giving hand is offered now
To the wife who bears a child
Soon a miracle of life
Continuing the path of growth

A serving hand is always there
Leading, guiding, all through life
Once discovered, never leave
Righteous living brings them joy

A wringled hand does clasp another
Age is seen through change of skin
But with love the young holds old
A simple joy is sprung from here

A wrinkled hand that clasps another
The other's hand is smooth and white
In the lifetime of the former
Service, love and joy were shared

A dying hand is full of joy
For he knows the Lord is near
Waiting to embrace at last
Beloved child, son of God

The Savior's hand is always here
For all those who reach back out
He has cared for all of us
Loving brother to us all

All of us area simple hands
Serving God with all our hearts
Charity, and faith in him
Help us to return back home

All through life we see God's hands
Miracles to combat wrongs
When we serve we give love back
God will share our love with care

Background Story:
As I was holding my older adopted Grandma's hand, I looked down, and saw my hand, a young, unmarked hand, holding a wrinkled, aged hand. I thought for awhile about the image of it, and after my adopted Grandma had left to help with the presentation being presented, I started writing. I started with the stanzas about wrinkled hands, then I thought about other hands we see in life. The poem just started flowing onto the paper. I looked at it, and decided the stanzas were in the wrong order, so I re wrote the poem in the correct order. Later on, as I was looking back at what I had written, I felt like adding a little more. The last three stanzas were an inspired add-on that I feel fit with the rest of the poem.

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