Hands of Tomorrow

Twenty-seven bones, a palm and flesh
Make up my hands that hardly rest.

Today they’re small, but they will grow;
They dig in dirt and shape Play-Doh.

Reach them out, “Tag, you’re it!”
Keep them to myself, they are not to hit.

They hide my eyes when I’m afraid.
I show you all the things they’ve made.

Sometimes they help pick up the toys.
Mostly they make lots of noise.

They throw and catch, shake and lend:
I use them to help up a friend.

Stained with marker, nails too long;
Bear with me while they grow strong.

Take my hand, show me the way,
Guide me through another day.

I will learn what they do best—
Just hold them tight, I’ll do the rest.