Two Hands

Two Hands

I saw a picture the other day

of two hands clasped in prayer.

The story they told was the truth

about an old man from his youth.

The lines of worry were all there;

the happiness, love and despair.

With the death he had seen

of the friends that had been.

With the scars of war, all

the fights been before... When

he looks at his hands, does he see

how his future’s going to be?

A struggle before he dies

– we should all have eternal lives.

He know death must be near,

I wonder if he has any fear?

Frances  Macaulay Forde © 1973