Saturday, May 11, 2013
Sun Browned Hands
You may notice her uneven tan,
But focus on her sun browned hands.
Leathery like an old boot,
And calluses even lotion won't sooth;
Recent burns across three fingers
From a rope she wouldn't let go of.
Her nails with dirt underneath,
sometimes painted pink.
Hands stained by oil and dirt
From fixing her truck,
Or oiling her reins.
They can handle a needle with skill,
Whether it's mending worn clothes
Or closing a wound.
Mending old fence
Or putting up new.
Her hands can twirl the twine,
Or teach a colt to follow a feel.
Each day she works hard,
And in each small way she reaps the reward:
From the colt that grows softer,
And the twine that ropes truer,
With the fence that stands longer,
And the wound which heals sooner,
To the truck that runs sweeter.
Each day a small reward, and each day a little more worn.