Tender Hands

I’m glad for what I had,
bones must be tender within hands
to appreciate touch,

to look back, in the garden
at childhood, picnics in the grass
at the river with a bend,
all never ending.

One needs belief,
a settled gait
a glance of respect
at what one once was.

And all one will be,
to look back at the garden
with tender hands.

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