Your Hands Poem by Elizabeth Miller

Your hands, so skilful then,
Could tie a bow in a heartbeat
Cut the toughest carrots
Hold buttercups beneath my chin
Swing me above the waves,
Brush gold leaf upon a frame
Write fine italics
Prune the wild, rambling rose
Conjure up a landscape,
Use a camera with ease
Sew the finest, neatest hem
Squeeze icing on a birthday cake
Splash whitewash on the walls,

Now, even your hands are weak.
So fragile,
I cradle them gently like baby birds,
Willing you to wake.