Poem -
Hands
I look at my hands often, wrinkled and old what a story to be told.
These hands have held, hugged and fought.So many bags were bought.
They fumble sometimes but that's alright because they are mine, Dry and rough but best believe they are tough.
The older they get the better they are.I remember that scar and that one to.
Such memories these hands of mine,that I will always treasure unit the end of time.
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Comments
Good essence of thoughts, great and amazing work.
Thank you!
Hey THERESA!!..... what I liked about this SO much is that at poems I felt like I knew you a little better!!..... using your "Hands" to springboard into the memories that each crevice, wrinkle, and scar mean to you is not only clever it compels the reader to share in those memories SO very poetically delivered!!......ALL STARS!!.... well done... and....WELCOME to COSMO!!......LOVE and ROCKETS!!......T xo
Thank you so much!