THE HANDS OF JOHN

                                  The hands of the old man, too deep the lines I see,
                                  The colour of paper bag browned by the sea,
                                  Each line tells a story, each story another line to be.
                               
                                  When young and before growing too old
                                  Those hands ventured well over the stormy sea,
                                  In the tragedy of war, they have been from heaven to hell
                                  -Not understood by you and me

                                  The callous in those hands, hard like the bark of a tree,
                                  Mended nets and filled the cups:
                                  Lips get thirsty at deep sea
                                  -Life was not easy like the life of you and me

                                  Those hands were kind and gentle
                                  When away from over the seas,
                                  They rocked the cradle of a child or two
                                  -Not heard by you and me

                                  One day those hands wanted to pass on
                                  And give at least a little bit,
                                  They became the hands of a Karate Master
                                  -To teach you and me

                                  Now those hands are in quiet repose     
                                  Resting crossed upon his chest 
                                  The hands of our Seishi John 
                                  -Loved by you and me.     

                                                                                   --This is his life story
                                                                                        R.I.P Seishi John