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Her hands, our tomorrow.
Hands that Toil
Hands that toil,
In the soil,
Fingers that grip,
Harvest to reap.
Eyes that weep,
No sound or beep.
It boils, it brims—
Dreams fueled by hope's oils.
Her hair, it flares,
As time ticks, prepare....
Hands that toil,
In the soil,
Fingers that grip,
Harvest to reap.
Eyes that weep,
No sound or beep.
It boils, it brims—
Dreams fueled by hope's oils.
Her hair, it flares,
As time ticks, prepare....
