Spotless hands

With her hands together she prayed,
when I was sick sat at my bed
and with bright eyes she looked into my soul
past how things look on the exterior

and now that life, destiny destroys me,
it is still she that stands with me,
she is still kneeling
for the salvation of my soul

where she stands with spotless hands,
held together
hands that carry the marks of life,
while she asks for no own gain

only bringing me the whole time to God,
never complaining over her destiny.

[O smettelose hande (O spotless hands) by N.P. Van Wyk Louw.]

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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