The Hand

In a discipline where the ink is mighty used to orchestrate issues

A story is told of a man

Whose hands never failed with his ink!

He whose hand was an emblem of truth and honor

The hand that ever shook everyone’s

T’was he that used his ink to project a people, a race, a culture and a heritage

Though in an often stereotyped discipline

He raised the bar by tackling hard core issues with dignity

And made name both near and far

Leaving his comrades with diverse emotions

But I envision a man in a web somewhere

For in his discipline

T’was always a battle for survival

And that which is unseen remains such

An entangled piece of web

And now I behold a man

With an inkless cold hand

That all hands now salute on a snowy day!