Going home from Journal by Nerida

Such strong hands, holding mine,
Brown and worn, working hands,
They’ve known many years of labour,
Years of breaking life from hard soil.
Now the nails are too clean,
And the strain is from pain,
But I’m still holding a farmer’s hands.

Such kind hands, holding mine,
Safe and warm, loving hands,
They’ve held so many precious ones,
Pulled through all the troubled times.
They’re holding tightly now,
Not sure how long we’ve got,
Can’t really imagine this grandpa letting go…
Letting go… it’s so hard to do…

Such humble hands holding mine,
Gentle and giving, praying hands,
They’ve wrestled many lonely hours,
Searching for the lover of his soul,
They reach to him now,
They’re thanking, they’re trusting him,
They’re longing to be finally taken home…

• Acoustic
• Australian
• Folk
• cancer
• dying
• farmer
• farming
• grief
• old farmer
• palliative care
• singer-songwriter
• Canowindra