A poet's hands are slow and small
Surveying the mind for a new poem to tell
Before putting their pen to the paper
Taking the time to think and to toil
Growing as slow as a small White Cedar.

An artist's hands are fast and crafty
Rushing to capture the moment ahead
Stopping only to change their pallets
Creating worlds of wonder and woe
With passion as wonderful as a drooping Willow.

A musician's hands are rough and beautiful
Playing their instrument with the power of a hero
Each one standing out among any other
The notes of their nectar flowing like a rushing waterfall
Making music as sweet as a Maple's sap.

A child's hands are ever changing
Learning skills unique to them alone
No two child hands are the same, yet all fit in
Like a sapling growing in a forest of art
Growing to become a mighty tree of its own.