Worries are not their’s and never would be ideally.
But life is a journey we all most travel
And soon tiny hands will know more than soft dirt and gravel.
Slowly they begin to recognize what is coming their way.
Some tiny hands get pushed faster along the path than others.
Their journey, becomes difficult before their brothers’.
To keep on and leave behind what’s wrong.
Struggles will be rough.
The traveler becomes tough.
Gone and forgotten are the days easy in the garden.
Life now demanding,
Would he yet be standing?
Tiny hands now rough and weary.
Callused hands now carry on.
Callused hands now conceal a yawn.
Prayers are only for the young and the old.
Love is being left behind.
Unaware, he becomes blind.
Come to wipe away unnoticed tears.
Slipping dearly into old callused hands,
Soft hands gently seek to understand.
Patch the heart that has been bleeding.
Folding together with callused hands,
Softly to aid the old who now stands,
And slowly begins to raise
His own once more in praise.