Wrinkled Hands…

It is strange how time acts like a termite,
My hands so weak cannot do a things right.
They are now wrinkled and mere a reflection of my age,
Was a time wrote long letters, and now not a page.
My hands are sore now with too many limitations,
To love, care and pray for you have no hesitations.
Whenever you need me you will always find me there,
I can still support you and can handle you with care…

 

© 2012 Pimmi Nag