Weathered Hands
These hands have grown weathered
From exposure to the sun.
They derive character
From their features, rough and worn.
Closer scrutiny shows
A much deeper quality.
For within those digits
Resides soft agility.
These hands do not implore
There is no right to demand.
There's earnest supplication
When I touch you with my hands.
These hands reach out to you
To find love and life renewed.
My touch seeks out your grace
And therein become imbued.
