The Hands Poem by Lacie Hebert

These hands were young once, long ago, 
Before the veins began to show.
They built and carried, held and fought, 
Reached for every dream they sought.

They held a lover's trembling face, 
They tied a child's first set of laces.
They buried parents, welcomed births, 
And learned the value of this earth.

Now age has marked them with its pen, 
Yet I'd not trade them back again.
For every wrinkle, every scar, 
Reminds me exactly who they are.