“Why are you always holding Grandma’s hand?” she asked.

Grandpa smiled…as was his way.

“The reason we hold hands,” he answered

“goes back to that first day.”


“That first day she told me she loved me…

‘Hold my hand’ is all I could think to say

because I knew if she wasn’t holding my hand

I would have easily floated away.”


“But you’ve been married 40 years!” the young boy said.

“I guess I don’t understand.

Why, after all this time…

Why do you still hold her hand?


Grandpa looked across the room at Grandma

the wrinkles in his face turned red…

then he smiled…as was his way


“Same reason.” was all he said.

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The first time they held hands…

as they walked along the shore…

was when they began to understand…


what hands were created for. 

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I had to smile when I heard him whisper in her ear…

as by me this old couple strolled…

“How lucky I am to still be holding


the only hand I ever wanted to hold.”

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They say the very young and the very old have the softest hearts.

That one possesses wisdom while in the other innocence dwells.

Which is perhaps, they say, why these two ends of the rainbow

get along so well.


As I was walking in the park he came up from behind…

He gently took my hand in his…he had something on his mind.


There were birds along the waters edge…

he didn’t wait for my assent…

he pointed in their direction, tugged my hand

and, quickly, off we went.


We chased the birds to our mutual delight…

his grip…determined, safe and strong.

The birds would fly away then fly right back

happy to play along.


He was not afraid to be near the water…

not afraid of the unknown…

Instinctively he knew by holding hands

he was not there alone.


We only walked together for a little while

before his interest realigned…

But even as he toddled off

he left his palm print etched in mine….


I say it matters not how old you are

if you walk hand in hand with a young one often…

every time they slip their hand in yours


your heart is bound to soften.

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