H A N D S
By Josie Whitehead
Ten grubby little fingertips
Are washed with loving care.
Tiny hands will stretch upwards,
Seeking things to share.
Hands that want to touch and feel
Those new things all around.
Hands that seek those things above
And those things on the ground.
Hands that haven’t done much work -
So smooth to human touch.
There are many years of work ahead,
But till now they’ve not done much.
A small hand nestling in Mum’s hand:
You’re walking off to school
But tomorrow you’ll be all grown up
And hand holding’s not 'cool'!
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