The cracked hands

hid a wealth of time

Etched in each and every callus

Worn with weather and with age

They marked him

as a man of experience

But the same rough hands

That lifted an engine,

Changed a tire,

built a house

Were soft and warm

Holding each

of his newborns,

And grandchildren

He showed his love

With deeds,

not just words.

Long days spent at work,

Nights of waiting up

To make sure they got back safe

Twenty dollars here and there

For gas,

or whatever

He always listened

and shared a shoulder

Support unending,

This father of mine