Happy Independence To All
The hands of a
person can often disclose much about their life. I remember the long slender
figures of the pianist and the stubby spanner like claws of our auto mechanic.
If you could read the markings on my hands they would tell of a charitable
life, always trying to help my fellow man through the hardships scribed on the
pages of time.
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Happy These hands
now swiveled and scarred with years Have the
scripts of my life, the smiles and tears Etched like
ancient markings on a cave wall Paraded
with each handshake to folks big and small All the
years I worked with tireless toil Grounds of
produce sewn in fertile soil Engines kept
alive and the machines’ nuts and bolts Screwed to
their optimal to cart calves and colts One never
had time for aristocratic finesse Found no
days free to put on the kind of dress Today I’ll
pause to celebrate an Anniversary It’s our Maybe I’ll
scrub my nails clean and comb my hair Everyone is
believing there must be a change this year |
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