Endeavoring

To write of hands,

And all that they

Can do,

I found the thoughts

I’d jotted down

Just grew and grew

And grew.

 

Handy artwork

Digits ten

Prehensile palms

One for Zen

Call for peace

Without a word

Build a house

Flip the bird…

 

I’m overwhelmed

With hands and so

To finally end this rant,

Instead of listing

All they do,

Here’s one thing

That they can’t:

 

They’re very skilled,

But flesh and bone;

They cannot build

What must be grown.