My Sister's Hands

My sister’s hands are fair and white. My sister’s hands are dark.

My sister’s hands are touched with age, or by the years unmarked

And often when I pray for strength to live as He commands,

The Father sends me sustenance in my sister’s hands.

My sister’s hands are lines and worn with burdens of their own,

And yet I know that should I mourn, I need not weep alone.

And often as I seek His grace to lighten life’s demands,

The Father sends me solace borne in my sister’s hands.

My sister’s hands, compassion’s tools that teach my own their art

Witnesses of charity within the human heart,

Bearers of the Savior’s love and mercy unto man,

I have felt the Master’s touch, in my sister’s hands.

-Sally DeFord