My Dad's Hands by David Kettler

My Dad's Hands

Bedtime came, we were settling down,
I was holding one of my lads.
As I grasped him so tight, I saw a strange sight:
My hands. . .they looked like my dad's!
I remember them well, those old gnarled hooks,
there was always a cracked nail or two.
And thanks to a hammer that strayed from its mark,
his thumb was a beautiful blue!
They were rough, I remember, incredibly tough,
as strong as a carpenter's vice.
But holding a scared little boy at night,
they seemed to me awfully nice!
The sight of those hands - how impressive it was
in the eyes of his little boy.
Other dads' hands were cleaner, it seemed
(the effects of their office employ).
I gave little thought in my formative years
of the reason for Dad's raspy mitts:
The love in the toil, the dirt and the oil,
rusty plumbing that gave those hands fits!
Thinking back, misty-eyed, and thinking ahead,
when one day my time is done.
The torch of love in my own wrinkled hands
will pass on to the hands of my son.
I don't mind the bruises, the scars here and there
or the hammer that just seemed to slip.
I want most of all when my son takes my hand,
to feel that love lies in the grip.

-David Kettler -

Related Poems

Children Need a Daddy

Children need a Daddy For many, many things: Like holding them high off the ground

To Be a Good Father, What Must One Do?

To be a good father, what must one do? First one must love, as the sun warms the Earth, Nourishing those to whom it gave birth

Thanks dad!!

Thanks for being the best dad to me You make me believe that I could be anything I want to be I'm glad I have you as my dad

To My Dad on His Day

To my dad on his day, Of whom I am a living will: May your happiness fulfill

Dad is a person

Dad is a person who is loving and kind, And often he knows

My Dad's Hands

Related Poems

Leave Your Comment