THE FINGERS OF MY HAND
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.
destruction of such a vital part of my
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]