My Father's Hands Poem by Paul Warren

I look at them in front of me
My hands old and wrinkled as I see
And I remember seeing my father's hands
As he toiled away and made his plans

My hands look like his as I turn them over back and palm
Familiar as they should be with no real charm
But they remind me of him and how he was with me
As I looked and learnt about life from him you see

But we are different in how we toiled
As he stood tall whilst WW2 flowed and boiled
For in his hands he carried a gun for us
And in the peace he never made a fuss

Now I did my part in wearing the blue
Always wanting him to be proud of what I'd do
So here I am an older man you see
With these hands that remind of his legacy.

© Paul Warren Poetry