ONE MORNING

That first cup of
coffee in the morning
held by an old hand
which I study —
then lift my mug
to taste the taste
that’s good and wonderful to me —
that makes me feel
I’m glad to be alive.
I set the mug down —
then take in my fingers —
front and back.
Oh what they have touched
and many tasks performed
in all my years!
I still have them all
in spite of dangers
in the wood shop.
They’ve touched and grasped
and  held so much —
lasted for a multitude of tasks —
and  I’ll still ask of them
to serve me yet a little while.

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