T(r)oy's Marbles

hands, Lord

Hands, Lord--
Your gift to us.
We stretch them up to You.
Always You hold them.

Your hands,
scarred,
became a sign
of Your love
no time can erase.

Your hands,
which have us
inscribed on their palms,
pour down blessing
on the details of our days.

by Laurel Bridges

poetry | Comments (0) | September 19, 2005