My Father's Hands

My Father's Hands

I remember the touch of your dear hand
And how safe and secure it always made me feel
Just knowing you were beside me
And that your love was enduring and real.
I remember the shape of your fingers
And how they felt interlaced with mine,
How firm they could be—yet how gentle and tender,
How compassionate and so kind.
Nothing can replace the memory
Of the moment my heart cherishes now
For these hands are no longer mine to hold...
The Father holds them now.
~Thena

What a sweet, tender poem. Love your gentle words.