Betty Freemon

Betty Freemon

I Know a Man Who Has No Hands

I know a man who has no hands,
and hardly any arms.
He smiles and speaks.
He carries things--books, his child.
I wonder what's his story--
how he copes
and how he comes to smile,
this man who has no hands.

Brush Strokes

Painting light,
Painting bright,
Burning fiery through the night.
Wishing, wanting, reaching--
patterning a future,
escaping from the past.

Who, me?
Yes, you--
Blazing forth
at last.