I wonder when we’ll understand
You may be ‘Foot’ and I may be ‘Hand’.
But should Hand claim to be the best
And feign a lack of interest
In helping Foot if Foot is hurt;
Or if Hand treats the Heart like dirt
Then Hand might start to wonder why
There’s been a drop in blood supply;
Or note his lost ability
To respond with agility
To any need to run away.
Hand bemoans Body’s sad slow decay.
It seems that Hand is unaware
Body’s fate is a fate that they share.
And, should Hand say, “Hey, I’m OK
I don’t need Foot, or Heart. No way!
Here I am; I’m such a fine Fellow!
I type, I write, I play the cello.”
So proud of Finger and of Thumb
Ashamed to feel he’s kin to Bum!
He ceased to pay much heed to brain
And long since learned to silence pain.
Ah Hand! You thought yourself so clever!
And so you chose to simply sever
The ties that bind you to ManKind.
Body walked off!
And left Hand behind.
Too late. Too late, Hand realised
His arrogance was built on lies.
This Body that he’d come to hate
Could quickly learn to compensate
Or even make another Hand.
While thumb calls out,
“Come back. Come back!”
Nail tries vainly to launch an attack.
Poor Palm never even wanted to leave.
Wrist weeps sadly, remembering sleeve.
Ring finger stubbornly points in blame
At Body for ceasing to treat Hand the same.
So Finger and Thumb start a long fight.
And, truly, they make a sorry sad sight:
Hand flip-flops alone on the floor
Unable to move much; looking quite sore.
Should we pity Hand in his insanity
For cutting himself off from his humanity?
Or do we merely feel contempt
That Hand should think himself exempt
From feeding Mouth or wiping Bum?
Can we leave behind fingers
But reattach thumb?
It’s time we realised our deep connection
Each to another
And offer protection,
Friendship and love;
Joined to each part of our family tree.
Each cut is a wound that all mankind bears.
Your fate is my fate: one everyone shares.