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Hands
The child lies in the middle
 Of an open road
 Empty hands lie limp
 Shirt torn
 Skin smeared with the dirt
 Of a man less fortunate
  
 This child is waiting
 The world
 Playing a game of uneven
 give and take
 he doesn’t know what fairness feels like
  
 Then as the light drifts through
 The clean clouds
 That hover in the dreary sky
  
 A hand reaches out
 For hope
 For Dreams
 For the child
  
 the child rises
 an angel touched smile
 graces his face
 he is happy
  
 We know this child
 We know this hand
 Who are we?
 Where are our hands

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