These Hands

These hands have conjured calm from fear
These hands have cradled a new-born near
These hands have brushed cheeks gently, to say
You are not alone; you do not need to stay…
These hands have held and hugged,
swept hair from fevered brows,
carefully soaped chins
for gentlemen of an age
who can still sit upright to attention,
but can no longer shave.
These hands shared times when life
was a struggle too far,
cleansed the wafer -thin skin of new born bairns
and clasped the unsaid thanks
of those who grieved
with red rimmed eyes, carefully,
so as not to bruise them further.
These hands were trained to care
in Nursing ways, a generation ago
shaking the letter with one word
PASS
loose from its envelope,
forever changing, this quiet lass.
That word was a gateway, to a life I adored
as a Registered Nurse, I took breath in a body of care
so able and dignified, it was an honour to share
with the largest family I’ve ever known

These hands will continue to pray at this time
and clap, and clap, and clap
till we no longer need to fear
an enemy unseen, but so fearfully known

Thank You... our wonderful NHS.

Poem contributed by Janet Crawford.

Photo by Christopher Boswell on Unsplash