Hands that cradle the morning light,
Weaving dreams in silent flight.
In the gentle curves, stories unfold,
Of warmth and kindness, silently told.

They hold the weight of whispered fears,
Wiping away the quiet tears.
With a tender grip, they guide anew,
Building bridges where hope grew.

Hands that plant the seeds of change,
Turning pages, life rearrange.
In their dance, a silent song,
Of strength and solace, where we belong.

Through storms and calm, they gently steer,
Crafting futures, drawing near.
In every touch, a promise stands,
The gentle touch of guiding hands.