Like an oval stone
worn smooth by time
and constant tide,
my hand fits into thine.
Familiar is the shape
that fondles mine
and deeply satisfies
this aching palm.
Through passages of life
our hands had worked apart;
from selfishness and need
the Sculptor’s work would start.
These hands that toiled
constrained and carried,
bruised, accused, and buried,
wore smooth the calluses of pain;
and through the passages of time
stretched its palm to touch another
and found thy shape fit mine.
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Mylifeindisguise.com
Color-Consciousness.com
Bajaartist.net