~ An Hour With You~

Calloused hands that once held firmly to the plow,
Accomplishing many a man-made goal,
Are painful and stiff now,
For arthritis has token its toll.

This farmer's hands that often sowed precious seed,
As he transversed newly prepared ground,
Now cautiously grip a cane for there's a need,
For assistance just to get around!

Hands that held that special young woman's hands,
As they joyfully said the words," I do,"
Later worked to fulfill their plans,
Before life's journey for her was through!

Now those hands hold her portrait near his heart,
As uncontrollably he weeps.
But only God sees the teardrops start,
For around him the whole world sleeps!

Gentle hands that held a newborn son,
While marveling at God's wondrous grace,
Now struggle 'til simple chores are done,
For their movement is at a slower pace!

Hands that often held God's Holy book,
Tenderly caressing each and every page,
Tremble as once again he takes a look,
At words becoming more precious with age!

Hands that were lifted to God daily in praise,
Still reach out to help his fellow man,
And for the rest of his days,
Will be used the best way they can,

To wipe away a young child's tears,
Or to help lift a fellow traveler's load.
Yes, just as in former years,
They'll point others to Heaven's Blest Abode!

Robert F. Dotson © 2010
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