In the quiet dawn, hands weave dreams,
Threads of fate in the morning beams,
Guiding paths with gentle touch,
Crafting futures with wisdom’s clutch.

Hands that heal, hands that mend,
Silent prayers they softly send,
Through the storms and quiet night,
Holding on with all their might.

Hands that create, hands that build,
With every movement, hearts are filled,
Bridging gaps, mending seams,
Fulfilling hopes, igniting dreams.

In every hand, a story lies,
Of love, of loss, of endless skies,
A testament to what has been,
And what is yet to be seen.