Your old hands told me
the busy years you spent
managing people and afternoons
to cut off the trees
that made one bastard filthy.
Your old hands told me
the quiet months you spent
in your rocking chair and pajamas
clueless of the seconds, hours,
days, months and years that passed.
Your old hands told me
the hurting days you spent
when your sons and daughters
grew up to be old-looking children,
lost , defeated, crying the years that wasn’t.
Your old hands told me
the elated hours you spent
cheering and playing with your gandchildren
as they battled personalities of giants
trapped in their small hands.
Tomorrow they will burry
the busy years, the quiet months,
the hurting days and the elated hours
that dawned those old hands.
I will not forget what they told me Pa.
Please be happy.
