My Father's Hands

My Father's Hands

From birth till death,
We do not know, our destiny is at list,
Knowledge increased with memories past,
We glean from to do our best.

As years increase as so with time,
Our memories increase still,
More gleaning of the time's we've shared
With loved ones at their best.

My Father's hands upon his Steel,
Making melodies for the soul,
A memory I will always cherish,
No mystery there to unfold.

My Father's hands, usually busy at work,
When time allowed, would play,
And stroke the notes, in timely form,
A beautiful ending to the day.

And as the years did swiftly pass,
With that, I was allowed to join,
And make the music my Father played,
Welcoming those present, to join.

It thrilled his soul and depths beyond,
To have in his hands, the strings,
To him, the notes that were always true,
Relieved the stress of things.

When I feel bound with life's demands,
I long to hear the strands,
The melodies flowing from the strings,
Caressed by Father's hands.

It seemed to me, that time stood still,
As Dad's hands would pluck the notes,
His smile would convey, his hearts content,
Ever so pleasant to participating folk.

As I now play and often reflect,
I have only to shut my eyes,
The notes I hear and share with ease,
A result of Father's hands.

A priceless gift, he did impart,
He shared it from his soul,
The same I share with his content,
Benefits beyond.....being told.

For as I look at my own hands,
I see my Father's still,
His hands live on, through mine you see,
His music, ever present, my will.

TDT 6/20/10