In the quiet dawn, the hands awaken,
Sculpting dreams from the misty morn,
They weave the tapestry of the day,
Crafting wonders, silent and sworn.

Hands that hold the fragile and weak,
Lifting spirits with a gentle touch,
They mend the broken, soothe the pain,
In their embrace, we find so much.

Hands that toil under the burning sun,
Building bridges, forging bonds anew,
They write the stories of our lives,
With every gesture, pure and true.

Hands that pray in the still of night,
Seeking solace, hope, and light,
They bring together hearts and minds,
Hands, the silent force, ever bright.