Phalanges

Some are gnarled and crooked

And on bad days tend to shake

Perhaps weary from working

On the lives they helped to make

 

Some are stiff and pointed

At the things that they disown

But rarely turn or soften

For to judgement they are prone

 

Some are small and grasping

Feeling out creation

Each poke and pinch and grab

Their form of salutation

 

Some are large and blistered

From toiling through long days

The providers of the basic

Sustaining life in many ways

 

All have great potential

To make, and heal, and grow

But only in the doing

Can the wielder truly know