Tough Hands, Tender Heart Poem by Joseph Blitch

My Granddad's hands were somewhat huge;
You might say that they had been well used;
Working in coal mines all his life was tough;
So his hands had become callused and rough;
The first time you notice him you would stare;
You'd get the impression of him being a bear;
Strong grip; that of a sound able-bodied mans;
Time progressing forward wrinkled his hands;
Always vigorously working with enough to do;
If needed he would repeatedly find time for you;
He was a man paying attention with a lot of care;
When he rested his hands were folded in prayer;
If he called you without getting an answer quick;
His clearing his throat would always did the trick;
Walking he had my hand in one the other a tea cup;
My juvenile hand in his was gently swallowed up;
Hands tough, yet comfortable for the most part;
One thing for sure he had a really tender heart;
His warm and cozy hands left me feeling at peace;
Walking with him all my hurt would soon release;