'Hold on to my hands.' br br My father’s gentle hands, br Worn by work, a craftsman’s hands br Tapering fingers, an artist’s hands br Were those I watched with fascination br Were those that held mine, a child’s hands, br Washed by them with such attention. br br Those hands that in my last memories I held br And asked him for more time, br More time to hold on to them, br More time to hold on to him br Just a little more time. br br Generous as ever, he stretches out his hands br To me, a woman now, no longer the child br Whose hands he washed so delicately br Yet still needing that final contact br Still needing to hold his hands br For just a little more time.