Pride.

Worn Hands, Steady Gaze

Lines etched deep, a map of years,

Not weakness there, but quiet cheers.

A garden grown, a house still kept,

Secrets held, and promises swept.

No need for trophies, loud and bright,

This pride's a fire, burning soft and light.

A son’s call, a grandson's grin,

Stories told, where wisdom's woven in.

They've seen the world, its shifts and turns,

Learned lessons hard, where true strength burns.

Each sunrise now, a victory won,

A life lived full, till day is done.

No boasting loud, no need to prove,

Just steady gaze, and quiet groove.

Worn hands still work, or gently rest,

A lifetime's pride, held in their chest.