These Weary Hands

My hands just can't seem to work,
I can't block the sun,
There's always that lift away that sifts its way through the cracks,
I can't pick anything up,
Without it slipping from my grasp,
it just falls into the tall grass.

And I can't hold your hands in mine,
And I can't share your stare,
Not at this time,

Because my blood doesn't pump well enough,
Just a heart not strong enough,
From the last time, someone dropped mine.

Finger clasps,
Weary and weathered,
They can barely lock together.

Not fit as a home,
Better just find better.
Better find another