Hands for Hire

Hands for Hire

When I was just a little girl
My grandpa always used to say
“Idle hands are the devil’s tools.
Stay busy; don’t be led astray.”

So I would help him with his chores
Whenever I would visit him.
We fed the chickens, milked the cows
He did his work ‘till light grew dim.

Then after dark, he didn’t stop.
He carved and whittled, stoked the fire.
He said his chores helped keep him young.
“I won’t need rest ‘till I retire.”

But I got older, went to school -
A college in another state.
I thought about that fine old man,
But visiting would have to wait.

Then came the day, I got a call.
“Your grandpa’s had a heart attack!
Can you come home? We need you here!”
I packed quick for the long drive back.

When I first saw him lying there
His mouth was slack, hands at his side
His eyes were closed; he didn’t move.
I felt so scared; I almost cried.

Then Grandpa slowly turned his head
“No idle hands,” I heard him say.
His voice was weak, but I was sure
With lots of love, he’d be okay.

I sat beside him, held his hand.
“Don’t worry, Grandpa. I’ll be here.
We will get through this, you and me.
You need two hands? I volunteer!”

Then Grandpa quietly said, “No.”
“No volunteers, no charity.”
So now I’m Grandpa’s hired hands.
My payment? He must live for me.

--by “Bella Bunny”

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