Grandma's Hands Poem by chris schwartz

I looked at my hands today;
They are my Grandma's hands.
She worked tirelessly in the fields
Ringing the dinner bell
For the boys that were in the woods
Downing trees for the winter's heat.
I had admired her hands,
So long ago,
When I was young.
Though they trembled,
They still carried on,
With diligence,
Determination,
That bell rings with me still.
She never complained.
She felt blessed with what she had.
She had earned those hands,
And always felt comfortable
Wearing them.
They were her memories.
I am thankful I have
My grandma's hands.
They have served me well.
In today's world,
We have photo shop,
To erase all the memories
Of our struggles.
But my hands,
My Grandma's hands,
Have proved that
Yesterday's struggles
Bring the memories
For our Future.
And that the past joy
We experience
Still runs through its
Veins.