Like the late shadows of two falling aspen leaves
turning and turning across the grass long, long before
the leaves touch - so women's hands transform a chore,
floating about their sweet intent, knowing the season grieves.
Like the fingers of paper-birch trees brightly through the day
reaching to grace the surrounding pines and ease their dark away,
so in the light of women's hands, caring and poise entreat;
so in the life of women's hands, mission and beauty meet.