Soft and tender, smooth and white, Formed for winning and delight, Nature has no lovelier sight,— A woman’s hand.
Wrinkled, worn with much to do, Many a task for me and you, In all trials good and true,— A woman’s hand.
Clasping ours through life and death, Lovingly to latest breath, Sweetest thing that comforteth,— A woman’s hand.
by Amos Russel Wells
Here is our selection for the weekly topic “Hands”
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