Through past experience with pain, longing for permanent healing,
Two distinct pairs of hands, a generation apart, on sight, soldered by fate.
The first, though strong, vibrant, in every cell, alas, a relentless burning...,
To the second, bruised by scratchings of time, ice-capped like Everest, to this date,
Broken, over the state of those remindful of the Lord's, but, feeling like a son's.
Crushing images carved its soft heart, echoing relentlessly, through its canyons, palms...
For hours, axles riding parallel, mostly silently, even if nearly side by side, in fading ...