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.