These hands are hands that have touched and seen better days. They have blister upon blister and they have worked these fields from the days of my childhood. As my mother hoed the fields because we could not afford to keep any cows for farming I followed behind her and pulled the weeds up with my hands. As I grew up I would rise early in the morning pick up my hoe and carry fertilizer from manure and walk past the dunghill and work with these hands.
These hands have worked their life’s worth. Each line and level of roughness is a year each of how hard I have worked. Sometimes when I feel let down and tired I look at my hands and I remember where the hands are there is life, and where there are legs too there is hope. Where the eye is present there is hope and where the nose stills smell there is life.
Yes there is everything on me and these hands are a constant reminder. I will work these hands and give a future to my children and my grandchildren and those yet to come. These hands have given much and I will cherish them. Oh I will cherish the toe too and the grey hair and even the missing tooth