I cut my thumb, when the dollhouse door won’t open.
I scraped my knuckles, when the blue crayon gut stuck.
A fathers hands are tough.

I swing her high, when we ring around the rosie.
I hold her hand, when it’s time to cross the street.
A fathers hands are safe.

I wipe her tears, when her favorite toy gets broken.
I tuck her in, when it’s time to say goodnight.
A fathers hands are love.