Tired hands

Refill these hands

That worked hard and bled today

To add beauty and respect

To old clothes.

Hands not smooth and not shy

That travel quick through the stitches

And join the borders of a hot Sunday.

Give them water, a shake, and a rest

In your lap

Until fresh again.

Future today

What hides in the grass

Grown in this day of transition?

Fruits like Easter eggs

Are hard to see,

Yet precious and rewarding

For the eye of the naïve.

Work, health, friends, emails, future plans

Are ripening hidden in the green

Of hope and routine.

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