These Hands...

These hands.

Barbed wire scarred.

Bruised, but never broken.

Burned and callused from a rope.

Freckled from the sun.

Muddy.

Dry.

Wrinkled.

They've written letters, notes, stories.

The nails have been chewed, trimmed, painted.

There's a ring on the left hand, a reflection of a promise of "forever."

They've been callused and smooth, harsh and gentle, rough and soft.

They've wiped away tears.

They've been weak and strong.

These hands have taugh and learned.

They've hunted.

They've fed.

They've nurtured.

These hands have been young and by God's grace, will get to grow old.

These hands.