As the finger touches the glass, it breaks into dust.
Then the finger bleeds from being an old and crinkling thing.
But even after all these ages, the heart that pumps blood to this little finger stays the same.
Most people call this finger yes old. But I call it beautiful, a masterpiece of God's hand!
The finger that's now old, and now wrinkled and calloused, from working hard in the cotton fields.
The precious hand that it's attached to used to play violin in the city of Italy.
So you see it holds the marks from its craft.
From where the hours the bow laid, playing a medley so sweet, I can hear it in my dreams.
This hand has taught me many things.
That with hard work you can achieve.
So as I take that soft finger in my hand, and wrap it up for this dear friend, I see a magical beauty.
Of something meant to be.
Now I hope she can teach me to be the same.
She's one of the reasons I keep on dreaming.