Poetry

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Two hands to me,GOD GAVE,when i was born,i thank
him for the gift of life,my parents too for being
true,some of my family,now gone to life's eternal
new,my hands can now no longer do the work so once familiar,ever anew;my tools are lying still at rest
however my hands are now my writing guest,no boss
have i save a ticking clock,tells me to start,and
also stop,no murmur when i take a break,for pen and paper some words i make,no foreman to say am overdue,at breaktime or at my stopping too,he has
his job to do,no sweating brow,or tired feet;some
new words hope i can meet,and write them down on my paper sheet,to please the people they may meet,
not so much like the work i knew,life's not quite over,just have a different view,please have
another brew.
Joe.

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