Hands that build, with calloused grace,
Crafting dreams in every place,
From timber, brick, and stone they rise,
Reaching upwards to the skies.

Hands that heal, with tender might,
Mending wounds, restoring light,
They weave the balm of care and love,
Sent from hearts, pure as a dove.

Hands that comfort, soft and warm,
Shielding souls from every storm,
In their clasp a silent vow,
To stay close, through then and now.

Hands that tell a story true,
Of a life, old yet renewed,
In their lines, the journey lies,
A testament to where heart ties.