Hand over Foot

Hand over Foot

I have a thing for Hands and Feet
Whether washed before we eat or sleep
Whats on top of and underneath
When I look at them they speak
Tell stories of labor and love
The tenderness or the toughness of
How it is now and once was
So strong, yet oh so weak
Extremities, with or without, a number of phalanges
Gnarled or sleek, by the grace of God, they have held up beneath
Enormous pressure, they offer an endless measure
Regardless of work or pleasure
They stamp or pour out, everything without. reward
For many of their selfless chores
The Glory they know, is not theirs, but Yours
For not by might, nor by power but by the spirit
Do they, push it, shove it, kick it, move it, build it,
touch it, grip it, stroke it, caress it, rock it, hold it,
mold it, pad it on the back, scold or console it
balancing it all, between two hands and feet
The doers of all that we think
Pointing out the direction, earthy or heavenly destined
To get us there, what an honorable pair
His pierced, so ours would be sheared
Often neglected of tender loving care
Made Holy when raised or leaping in the air
Washed in the blood, in life or death
Hands and feet, deserve, to some day receive Eternal rest
Or simply for us to remember just how blessed
We are the have them

Lord, I hold your hand and foot,
(W. African colloquialism for, I beg you)
Mommy Dearest

Copy Right 2010