Hands are made to touch, to feel sensation
Hot, cold, silk, satin, warm skin on a cold night
To give us music, to soothe another’s sorrow
To hold a new borne baby’s head, feel that tiny life
Remembering hands were not always so kind
Not so long ago they were in the dark ages
Now, hands we never get to see, grow food for us
Make the clothes on our backs
Shoes to stop the heat of the day
Burning through our soles
Best of all, are the hands that love you the most…
© Anita Dawes 2021
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