Image by Prawny on Pixabay

MY CHILD’S HANDS

~not all innocence is lost with time~

On a chilly evening,

As I warm tingling fingertips

At a garrulous log fire

I see

For the first time,

My child’s hands

Child’s hands

That vainly

But in absolute joy

Play with cobalts and ochres

Viridians, crimson and charcoal

Amongst cobwebs of a still

Hushed basement.

Farida Haque