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| These Hands of Mine |
These hands of mine aren't pretty
But they belong to me.
God lets me use them daily
To get things done, you see.
With many scars and swollen joints
I go about each day
And God has blessed the work I do
In His own special way.
People look, They talk, and sneer,
They just don't understand.
I'm really not deformed at all
Like some folks think I am.
My hand have caused me horrid pain
And may sleepless nights
But I still have ten fingers
To hold my family tight.
Just like today, I write a lot.
Poetry, I love.
My hand can guide a pencil,
The words come from above.
Although it may not sound just right
I thank God every day
For these afflicted hands of mine,
When it's my time to pray.
Why? I know you ask yourself
Because it could be worse
If god would take my hands away
That would seem a curse.
-- Unknown |
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