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,
Dirty,
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?
-
Author:
M.E.M. (
Offline) - Published: October 30th, 2017 10:34
- Category: Friendship
- Views: 64
Offline)
Comments2
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!
M.E.M., never thought of a friend this way, but you said it beautifully!
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