The hands of an artist,

hold the paint brush,

Painting the past

for the future.


The hands of a soldier,

holds the rifle,

Protect us,

so we don't have to.


The hands of a boxer,

Clenched into fists,

ready for the fight,

Throwing punches, then an upper cut.


The hands of a writer,

hold the pencil,

Support the head,

elbow on knee.


The hands of a baker,

they kneed and create.

Shape and flip the dough.


The hands of a mechanic,


covered with grease.

Repair and fix vehicles.


But the hands of a friend.

They're from the past for the future,

Ready to protect and fight for you,

To support in a time of need,

Shape and flip your life,

They aren't afraid to get their hands dirty,

Help you up, when times get rough.


The hands tell a story,

What is yours?


  • orchidee

    A fine write MEM. I've never seen any sense in boxing - two people bashing each other about, leading to brain-damage in severe cases. I suppose they do it for the money. Otherwise it seems a complete waste of time to me!

  • FredPeyer

    M.E.M., never thought of a friend this way, but you said it beautifully!

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