I remember Grandpa's hands...
Rough and dry from the years
Stained with the days work
Hard and sometimes cold
But always gentle when tears were shed
How many things and people they have touched...
Sometimes harshly, sometimes tenderly
Eager to play their part
Willing to offer support
Lending themselves in work
How many days they have seen...
Grandpa's hands were always busy
Tasks were too many
Constant in work and play
Always constructive, never at rest
Time was not kind to them...
Each passing year made tasks harder
His strong heart and pride breaking
Stubbornly refusing to slow
Until the time arrived, they could work no more
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