Smiling with a face stuff of spaghetti
his small bruised covered hands
gripped tightly to the fork
dropping the fork slowly
as it comes to the end of the hardwork
the hands that never touched a dipolma
the proud hands of staying loyal
the smoothness of his palm toss the ball
"Just be patient it will come together"
and just before hitting my face
he caught the orange object
I looked up as his small fingers touched my chin
the pale coloring scanned my nose
the hands of a champion, a winner
hung close to my heart
and I finally came to realization
his hands were more than just a treasure
but also a blanket to my heart