Here is the poem, promised in the previous post:

“HIS” Hands

As a baby enters this life there is a confusion.

The world gives us an illusion

A perception

Of possession

“I am theirs”; “They are mine”

It is said all the time

Looking deeper, reality unfolds

That those little hands that I hold

Have a far greater purpose to be

Than my eyes ever can see

They are God’s hands, God’s feet

That I hold so sweet

He gives them to me to keep for a while

To make my heart smile.

He allows me to have them to hold,

To shape and to mold.

But, in the end as they grow

Of my hands, they’ll let go.

It is only then I’ll rest sure

When, instead, they grasp God’s hands, secure,

My mission is done.

They and God are now one.

At the end of the day

Into the background of their life I will fade.

Knowing I was blessed by God for this time

To have them to call mine.