On looking at my hands

On looking at my hands

Are these my hands?
So crisp and shiny now.
Nails as hard as nails they have
On fingers that squeak and hurt

The hands that clasped my loving
Mother`s fingers in those far off and
Earliest of my days.
That later made mud pies while I
Spoke out loud my fantasies at play.

Hands that touched a sweet girls face
In fields of cowslips and cow pats.
And often in my pockets as I kicked
Empty tins noisily along.

This right hand has gratefully saluted
An inferior superior
While my left was held out for my
Thirty pieces of silver for my service
To Queen and country.

These hands once held my love to me
And held my children`s hands
In everlasting love
And care until their hands in turn
Were waved in heart-wrenching goodbyes
As they made their own ways
Out into their own worlds.