Tired Hands Poem by Edwina Reizer
Tired Hands
Tired hands my pen commands
and they don't have time to rest.
They've held this pen for 4 and ½ years
and know that they have been blessed.
For what are hands but an instrument
to accomplish what they can.
So every line and wrinkle in them
was part of God's plan.
I use them to communicate
then hold them to my breast.
I stretch my fingers to relax them.
For my hands have stood the test.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/5/2024 8:27:36 PM # 1.0.0.1119
