Hands
There are many hands in Kingston,
Washing dishes. Sweeping floors,
Their are hands preparing dinners,
Flicking switches, locking doors.
There are hands all holding brushes,
Making works the artists lead,
And some hands are braiding dreadlocks,
On a few a raster's head.
There are many hands in Kingston,
Setting tables, stocking stores,
Little hands that build their castles,
Out of sand, upon the shores,
There are callous hands on fishing nets,
Where the boat men do their chores,
All these hands are ever busy,
As the older hands before.
I tell no lie, my hands are lazy,
Pages blank, they work no more,
For my fingers should be writing,
But my hands are holding yours.
End
10
3
4