The Praying Hands

With hands, I pray.
With hands, I sing.

A silent tongue
but a gleaming eye
in every work
and every deed.

Some sing with
harp and lyre.
I sing with hammer
and chisel.

Each stroke a symphony
of ringing notes
bellowing forth from
pickaxe and saw.

The hand lightly touches
the tools of its voice

and lays grip on its song
as I begin to pray.

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