Crooked Hands

Crooked hands, gnarled fingers
Look much like burled trees 
The stress of storms or insects 
Other forms of injury 
Causing calluses to grow there 
Protecting tree beneath
The lumpy areas hardened 
Through sufferings etched deep 

And yet these lumps when opened 
Reveal beauty therein hid
The hardened shell protective 
Of swirled patterns laying in 
Witness of adjustments
Growing o’re and round the wound 
Has made the tree more beautiful 
When one truly sees the wood 

Wrinkled fingers, hands and faces
Recording tracks of time
Chiseled channeled places
Hard work and tears sublime 
Each a lifelong story 
Explicit in detail 
If only they could speak aloud
Tell all the hard won tale