Two Hands

Two hands,
one, old and scarred
weary, trembling and weak.

The second, young and tender,
soft, innocence
frail from still being a child.

Both are of different colors
unable alone to lift
most any weight of burden.

But working together,
with the energy of love
bonding their labor,
they can do what neither does alone.

How much more does a single heart beat
when it is held by another
where without words of hate,
laced together to create
care's masterpiece of art,
no single pulse can duplicate.