His hands were great.
They could build,
they could break,
they could take
my pain away.

They could dig,
they could bruise,
they could sooth
my soul today.

He hand the hands of a fighter
but his touch was much lighter;
as he held me,
and stroked me,
and choked my
problems away.

They day his hands left
I’ll always regret;
as my actions put gloves
on his love.
I can’t reach them,
I can’t kiss them,
my body can do nothing
but miss them.

© Carl Burkitt 2014