The hands that used to pull me close
Were twice the size of mine.
They’d stroke my hair and hold my hand;
Let our fingers intertwine.

The hands that used to hold me tight
Had short and bitten nails,
And a crooked finger on the right;
Such imperfect perfect details.

And the hands that used to love me
They were tender yet so strong.
A simple touch would make me weak
As their fingers traced along-