Poem: These Hands Have Done Much

My hands are wrinkled
crooked and bent
joints swollen
misshapen
yet they still dance
across the piano keys
and along the fretboard.
I cannot do the delicate work
on a freshly tumbled gem
or solder silver wire
in intricate patterns
but I can string beads
along a stretched out cord.
They've changed the diapers
of three babies now grown
made them lunches
sent them off to school.
These fingers have tapped keys
spun intricate worlds
like fairy floss and funnel cakes
at the world's biggest fair.
They ache nowadays
with the slightest change
in the weather.
I cannot do what I used to do
as the years go by
and cartilage wears away.
But my desire to create
will never cease to be.