A poem written for Neil, Kathy, Melvin and Gary - December 1983


The fingers of my hand symbolize to me

The five special people who are the base of my tree

The thumb is my mother her many uses you can see

Combine this with my forefinger, my father

And you will feel the strength and harmony

They gave to all us children when we were very small

Nourishing mind and body until today we all stand tall!

The remaining three fingers, I can do without I'll not deny

But, if I'm asked to cut them off I'll refuse, do you know why?

For their loss would diminish me in ways I can't explain.

There may not be pain in losing them, but, my hand would never be the same!

So judge them wrongly, tis your right, but, understand this well:

They are part of me and I of them as if developed from one cell.

Any causing destruction of such a vital part of my anatomy

Tis not just fingers they destroy. It is the base of me

Yes, the five fingers of my hand are precious as can be

And, I am proud that they and I are proven family.


Zed [our mother]