Not gentle Palms of Fathers

Not gentle Palms, strong and weathered,

Bearer of burdens, toil and care,

With every stroke, a testament,

To love's enduring, steadfast glare.

Through endless hours of labor's embrace,

You carve a path, with quiet grace,

Your hands, the tools that shape our lives,

A testament to strength that thrives.

In fields or factories, offices or farms,

Your tireless hands bear the world's charms,

The sweat that glistens on your brow,

A symbol of love, we humbly bow.

From dawn till dusk, you work the land,

Providing for us, with love so grand,

The calloused palms, they speak of toil,

Of dreams pursued and hopes that foil.

With every touch, a gentle guide,

A source of comfort, by our side,

Those hands that held us when we fell,

Through thick and thin, you served us well.

Oh, not gentle Palms, but mighty and true,

You've given us wings, our dreams pursue,

In every crease, a story told,

Of father's love, more precious than gold.

So let us honor these hands, so grand,

That shaped our lives, like sculptor's hand,

For in their strength, we find our worth,

Our fathers' love, the greatest on Earth.

..............................................................

Message from Writter:

My father passed away about nine years ago.

But to this day, I still miss him.