Our daddy's hands are scarred and stained.
They rotate tires, repair engines and replace struts.
They hold wrenches, air hammers and drills.
They held us both soon after we took our first breath.
They hold us when we cross the street.
They hug us when he leaves for work.
At night they hold the book he reads us.
At bedtime they fold as he joins us in prayer.
Our daddy's hands are quite useful don't you think?
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