Hands
Upon a grassy knoll
I stand,reaching for the
stars.
My hand is
shortened,
cannot reach,
though I stretch with all my might.
They twinkle,
glitter,
in the
dark,
so near and yet so far.
I call as loud as I can,
and their hands
reach
not back to mine.
They only grope in
darkness,
and my tears
fall
for them,
as I know they soon
will.
Yet I know a
hand not shortened, of One Who
knows their number,
and calls them all by name.
He reaches where
my hand cannot,
and has the power to save.
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