with a broken hand, I have walked

on the shores of a shattered strand

in mind, of a wretched man

paths of woe and sunlit greens

burdened by ebb and flow

rowing with broken hand,

travelling crooked streams

with words to die for scrawled

upon my staff, seeing all who

come my way. reminders we came

to pay, to have all

we prayed for.

with broken hand have I shorn sheep

fathered children, harvested wheat

baked bread in a hearth of stone

travelled over river and mountain throne.

heal not these bones, for suffering

has made the joys much sweeter

forging chalices of gold, songs for Demeter.

yet blackened and gnarled

has this hand become

I force my will on these fingers

writing words to live for

onward, my stories will linger

reminding of tribulation and thorn

times of loss, nations war-torn

much do we lose, much do we gain

what is this life’s reward, without

lament and pain?

a broken hand has carried me thus

so in this, I trust

even if no longer can I hold yours

nails will etch your name

upon my staff, ’till

I can no longer grip its haft.

sorrow will come, and sorrow be done

I face all with this broken hand.

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