poems

Gnarly Hands

Gnarly hands.

17/06/2017

Gone are the days of gazing upon life with adolescent glory and wonder.

I still know all the answers but today my hands are old.

They’ve been old for a while.

Gnarly tree’s with knotted limbs.

Smell like dirt, the earthy kind, click like kindling by the fireside.

Movement’s agile, I still believe I’m fast.

Faith VS fact – how long will that last?

Age has been kind, there’s space in the book for a few more lines.

The spine is weathered but legible.

I’m still fast.

My hands look old.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

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