I look at your hands,
And then at mine.
A contrast so stark
And subtle all at once.
Yours shaped nails exquisitely
Painted in the newest shade,
Mine trimmed with my teeth
Just yesterday after catching
On the garden gate.
Hands speak volumes,
The seeds sown,
and songs played,
Love shared and worries wrung.
Mine will never be sheik.
I am not moved
To become other.
My seeds are sown,
My trees planted,
To live beyond the time
That I will see.