These old hands are wrinkled
There's a brown spot here and there
The nails are worn off to a quick
No sign of polish anywhere
But these old hands tell a story
And if you'd care to stay
I'll tall you for the service
They've done from day to day
They've brought younguns into the world
Rocked the cradle by he hour
covered my hear tin a Flag salute
Soothed many a fevered brow.
Before washing machines were common
they used an old rub board
to wash the babies' diapers
And overalls by the score
They've cooked delicious dinners
Sewed covers for the bed
tied a little girl's ribbons
Around her pretty head
Every night around bedtime
They are folded in revered prayer
Any place they are needed
these old hands are there.
Now these old hands aren't pretty
But I'm proud of them, you see
'course these old work worn hands belong
To little ole' caretaker, ME.