Hands

We hold hands with a lover,

we shake hands with a friend.

Childish hands pat the face of a mother,

parental hands pat the other end.

With our hands we lift a brother,

and sometimes a hand we will lend.

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With folded hands we kneel to pray.

Hands turn the pages when we read.

With potter's hands he molds the clay,

the sowers hand plants a seed.

Mother's hands put toys away,

the gardener's hand pulls a weed.

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We wave our hands to say goodbye

or beckon, "Please come here."

A hand wipes teardrops from an eye

or playfully, boxes an ear.

Frustrated, we shake a fist at the sky,

hands tremble and shake when we fear.

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Hands, a marvelous creation,

without which what would we do?

Used both for work and recreation,

each of us was given two.

This seems an adequate ration,

what I'd do with more, I have no clue.