It occurred to me that the essay I wrote yesterday about my husband's hands might make a nice poem.
Here is my effort at that:
My Husband's Hands
These large hands, worn with calluses
rough and scratchy,these hands I love.
A working man's hands, my husband's hands.
Scarred with cuts from barbed wire fence.
Smashed with hammers, trapped between tractor parts,aching with splinters from fence posts.
The nails are bruised, cut short because long nails
do not belong on the hands of a farmer.
Farmer and fireman.
His hands soothe calves and save lives.
His fingers touch so lightly
that it seems a feather passed by.
His gentle hands take a pulse and feel brows,
and grip a shovel with the strength of Hercules.
His strong hands built our home nail by nail
and planted trees now fully grown.
His hands take me places I never dreamed
when they touch and caress and love.
***
What do you think?
Both posts are beautiful. What amazing sentiments...hope the Huz reads it too.
ReplyDeleteI feel the same way about mine's shoulders. They shelter the world. Shannon
I think that is wonderful. You are truly fortunate and it is well-deserved!
ReplyDelete