FicWad

A small hand rests in that of her husband's
The dim light of the hospital room casts shadows on his face
Deepening the lines
He looks tired
More to himself than anyone else, he says

These hands have done a lot of work

For these hands came through the war
And crossed the Atlantic and all over Canada
These hands have raised three boys and two girls
And eleven grandchildren and five great-grandchildren

These hands have done a lot of work, he says

These hands have prepared countless meals
And mended socks and skinned knees
And plucked the bad beetles off bean plants
And played so many games of Go Fish

These hands have done a lot of work, he says

But, still, these hands are strong
For when the granddaughter comes in
She takes her face in those hands
And says "You're gonna be okay"

Because heaven forbid you doubt these hands
are done fixing things quite yet

Because up until the time when they are
entirely done working

Their grip is as strong as ever