Yours are the hands, mine are the feet.

You extend your arms for an embrace and I walk into them.

You paint a pretty picture and I tap dance around my praise.

You throw a ball of kindness and I run to catch it.

You snap your fingers, I jump.

You screw it on tighter, I chase down whoever can lift the lid.

You grab, I fetch.

You clutch, I scram.

Yours were always than hands that took, mine were the feet worn down to stubs in your service.

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