“ The Hand ” ~ that feeds ~

As I observe

The hand

That feeds,

Wants serve

The life I live

With verve,

Fashioned so

As fate did give,

To find contrive

Thru every curve

Meant stay alive,

Be worth invest

In destined strides,

Hence to survive

The waning signs

We visualize,

Protuberant veins

Neath thinning skin

Covers aging within,

Telling of life ephemeral

The while bemoaning

Mind means decline,

This hand will feed me still!