Saturday, March 22, 2008

Our Hands...

Our Hands...

A hammer is light,
Swinging it flashes,
Nails driven quicksilver,
Houses or crosses,

In our hands.

Fish hooks and old leather,
Falling coconuts adrift,
Dying palms in a rising sea,
A plastic swirl bigger than the USA,

All at our hands.

A garden of summer delights,
Picnic for the hungry,
By the lazy riverside,
Flying cottonwood seed,

Prepared and tended by our hands.

Double edges need no swords.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 03/06/2008

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