I look at my old hands and smile
They have been hurting for a while
They look like parchment and are frail
Unsteady, delicate and pale

They have worked hard and for so long
They gave solace, they can be strong
My sore fingers are oddly bent
But still I am fine and content

‘Cause what I see is all that’s good
They loved a lot and understood
The power of consolation
Of awareness and creation

Grandmother’s hands are just a gem
I would never try to hide them
Every imperfection and scar
I know how beautiful they are