HANDS

My hands, oh, marvelous hands
They are more than an instrument
For survival and instinct.
They hold what is dear.
Protect and grasp.
They lovingly clasp hands
Overlapping the fingers of another
Like a zipper
All knit and closed up.

They carry more than their weight
And sometimes I burden them
as I try to hold more
than is manageable.

They are in tune with the seasons
Even when my head 
and thoughts are not.

They reflect time and age.
There is no denying the changing
Shape and texture over the years.

They hold my pen and
Create shapes that move
Across the page.
They allow me to type and
Send my stories across
The globe. 
And with a click of a button,
My hands reach out to you.

My hands,
Just for today,
I will appreciate all you do,
Routinized and mechanical at times,
Without much thought
You are always there for me.
So today, I celebrate
and thank you.