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 sun.
Yet, their own mind, by design, nature, so quietly aware, protective of the other.
Although, one at the very beginning, the other nearing a life long career, so much,
In their background, experience with discomfort, in common.
As a miracle was begged out of caring, compassion for the younger hands, astonishingly,