These hands

These hands, well worn by these paths I’m on.By any other conveyance leathered souls would be strained.

For a lifetime one year, me and my chair roamed here and there.

Bound by necessity to wheels as my heart defied gravity.

Pained to the touch, bending to an unseen will, I wheeled.

Before the doors allowed, along side crowded busses, without a fuss.

Seated as they stood, carried when they could.

Not my choice, but here for life’s ride, I will not hide.

Unashamed of each struggle, I will not this passage muddle.

In this path, this trek of steel and canvas, still these hands steered us.

Unseen, though well aware, I so much wanted to stand, but didn’t dare.

To run but not this oldest son, for this time I sat, high with pride.

Singled from simple Walker’s to take a seat for a short ride.

Heavens plan, could have remained chair bound for this man.

But in his grace, blessings, my legs failings with strength he replaced.

Damaged its true, but stronger for this journey he has for me and you.

These hands, well worn by these paths I’m on.



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