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Reaching Hands
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By Rich Tassinari
Other Poems by Rich Tassinari

Reaching Hands

The Infant's reaching hands
   Span the breath of my poor heart
      And then some.

Oh, Child, a Love commands
   That we must never part
      From where You've come.

My hands of flesh alone
   Will fail to raise You up to me
      So then they stop.

The golden hay, Your stable's throne,
   It brings me to my knee
      And there I drop.

Oh, Lord, Your reaching hands
   Invite me yielding down
      Where meekness is Your crown.

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Submitted: Friday, July 13, 2012

Last Updated: Friday, July 13, 2012

About the Poet
Husband, father, grandfather, and each title is my joy. As a youth, poetry was a means to express the inexpressable. I was attracted to (and still am) the beauty and brevity of verse. All flows out from God, and like a proper prayer, can flow back.

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