Observe carefully our world:
fields, factories, streets, statues,
earth, sea, sky have been dominated
by the hands of men, which can move mountains.
I too trained my hands for expert work,
to prepare for the hard days ahead;
how ugly my words woven in silk,
compared to the hands of the worker mining gold.
My hands, oh dearest love, were
like flowers, clean and fragrant;
and when I am ill or in danger,
the touch of your hand is healing balm.
And all the while the hands of the clock,
point to the prophetic mouth:
“Man, all of you will meet the end
decreed by this—time’s hand.”