Daddy’s hands were wrinkled
Though he never seemed to care
Each day they opened for his work
At night folded for his prayer

Those furrows on his palms ran deep
And I often wondered why
The years had left their messages
Like old friends passing by

But now when I bend down to help
My grandson trying to stand
If I look, I find that I
Have got my Daddy’s hands!


Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.
Deuteronomy 11:19 ESV

My Daddy's Hands
by Peter Caligiuri
copyright 2024
All rights reserved