MY FATHER’S HANDS

A tribute to my father and the hard work he did throughout his life.

 

My father’s hands, were strong and firm,

But also rough as well.

He used them for the work he did,

And you could always tell.

 

You could see the calluses,

And all the scars and pain.

On his shirt you could also see,

Where blood had left a stain.

 

His work was hard and took its toll,

He knew it was just the way,

He provided for his family’s needs,

Just living day by day.

 

I don’t think he would change a thing,

Although his life was hard,

He played the deck that he was dealt,

Every single card.

 

I remember back when I was young,

And remember him with pride.

A measure of a man is not his gold,

But what he has inside.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

I love stories, and although this is in the form of a poem, it tells a marvelous tale of your father and his hard working hands. Growing up, I did every kind of hard labor to earn a few bucks. It was like that for my father and his father, and going on back. And on the subject of hands, I think they may tell a person's story as well or better than eyes. For as long as I can remember, I've noticed people's hands. A really excellent, meaningful work, and one that I enjoyed a lot.

[Lasergraph]

Thank you. I think it is something most can identify with. I worked manual labor as a younger man and even worked with my father as a teen. I saw first hand what he did as I worked beside him

[Autonomous]

Great work, I think almost anyone can relate to having hard working parents who worked solely to support us.

[Lasergraph]

Thank you. It meant a lot when I wrote it.