Master Jack was old and grey; time had passed him by,
Wizened hands betrayed his age, still a glint lay in his eye;
Physique so very frail now, had fought a thousand ‘wars’,
Waiting now upon God’s will; Jack’s life had lost its cause.
The souls of those who’d mattered; were now long in their graves,
Fond memories of times gone by, crashed over him in waves.
His children had all forsaken him; forsaken him every one,
Embarrassed by his manner, and the sharpness of his tongue,
Tears fell upon his trembling hands, as he gazed on them with love,
These hands had been God’s gift to him, from heaven up above;
Hands that blessed the Lord almighty; gave thanks for all their food,
Those hands had even built their home, beside the forest wood.
Hands carved their wooden furniture; and planted crops to sell,
When drought had struck the barren land, they dug for him a well,
Skilled hands had caught his children, emerging from the womb.
Seven boys, and three small girls; now adults in full bloom.
Gnarled hands from manual labor, digits enflamed and sore,
Busy hands made impotent; were functioning no more,
Spastic hands, arthritic hands; worked now ‘to the bone’,
Not one soul to help him farm; Master Jack prayed all alone.
“My Lord I have to thank you, for these two hands of mine,
The countless tasks accomplished, through your two gifts Devine”,
Calloused hands now pressed in prayer; “I wish new turf to roam”,
Soulful eyes glinted heavenward, “Please Lord… take me home”
Alf Hutchison
Excellently written poem. your life is preserved for God has things lef to be done., by you. liek write good poetry.. for me to read.. God Bless you! !
Effulgent pictorial depiction highlights this very eloquent penning, Alf...Though, the lining-length of the work, smacks of the classics, and yesteryear...(18 & 19th centuries) , the poem maintains an even-flow throughout...not an easy task! Rock Solid Work, my friend. F j R 2009
This long, narrative poem reminds me of the style of one of 18th and19th century poems. I like poems of this kind. The narration goes straight into the reader's heart. Reading becomes not at all an effort. The message is very clear. Our hands matter much. Nations are built by our hands. Nations are sent into destruction by hands. The same happens in our individual life too. Thanks for sharing the poem.
A poem that has perfect rhyme and rhythm, but neither of these overshadow the heartfelt sentiment and poignant message of this magnificent poem. I like the way you portray a lifetime through industrious yet sensitive hands. S :)
my hands are shaking, and i am teary eyed.This is a very touching write.Absolutely..a great piece. Hugs from here, Meggie
Alf the idea is really to use your hands to pray and not destroy. You have achieved this in Master Jack. I trust like him you are a prayer warrior as you work grows from strength to strength
This is very inspiring. Thank you for encouraging me to read your work and reading mine: D
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
yet hurtful by the glories of ownness, as when unfettering by remembrance of own rave up in time ande space, that delves tear from deep clouds trembling the sorrows by lone voices of own soul, yet ingenious through lucidity,10++++, thanks for sharing