By Miriam Laserson Varon
Some day this hand will outgrow mine.
These tiny fingers which I now entwine,
So soft to touch, so frail to press,
Will do man’s labor, skilled and bold,
Will play and punish, hurt and bless,
Carry a lover’s tendermost caress,
Will draw life’s pattern, line for line –
And then, perhaps, they may enfold
This hand of mine, all wrinkled and grown old.
This is one of Cathy’s favorite poems by her friend Miriam.