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My Father's Hands MAG
My father’s hands
are rough and worn.
Not at all like my mother’s.
They are strong,
from years of baling hay.
They are calloused,
from each new project.
They are sure,
from practice with basketballs and hammers.
They are the hands that protect me,
and pick me up when the world knocks me down.
© Anonymous
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This article has 6 comments.
Jordan Meendering said...
on Apr. 2 2014 at 8:42 am
I liked this poem well done!
SillyIndigoSea said...
on Nov. 26 2008 at 6:35 pm
I wish my Dad was like this.
This poem is great. Short, simple, sweet, and enjoyable.
This poem is great. Short, simple, sweet, and enjoyable.
davidismyoneandonly said...
on Sep. 3 2008 at 12:14 pm
this is an amazing poem it reminds me of my father before he passed away...
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