As I sit on the old chair <br />I look at my hand lying <br />On the table, both so worn <br />With use, and lined with age. <br />Both relics of a bygone era, <br />Both have seen so much use. <br />These hands are scarred, <br />Criss-crossed with reminders <br />Of old wounds, and old times. <br />These hands are old, and as I look <br />The steadiness fades, and they shake <br />Reminding me that maybe these hands, <br />These ancient hands, <br />Stiff hands, scarred hands, <br />Old hands, and worn hands <br />Aren't what I remember them to be.<br /><br />Anne Rhitak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/these-hands-4/
