My Father's Loving Hands

I still remember the warmth of those hands

As they held my tiny ones,

On our walks through crowded streets

And across zebra crossings.

I still recall the pat on my back

When my success thrilled him;

And the gentle rubbing of my soles

To ease me of a nasty cold.

I still hold the toys he made

When I was three or four;

And the long letters I received from him

On his days away from home.

I can still feel the blessings he gave

When his hands touched my head,

With a prayer on his lips

And tears in his eyes.

I can never forget the numbness of my feet

I can never forget the chill in my spine

When death held him in its tight embrace,

And rendered cold those loving hands

My father’s loving hands.