The Maiden without Hands

She has no hands to hold her grace
No fingers to brush her face
Yet she wavers sweetly between the men as she dances,
Caught in the wind.

She has no hands to write her words
Yet her stories, eagerly heard –
Only make a world that albeit children...
No-one understands.

She has no hands to wave goodbye,
When they turned them to silver, she did not cry
She held her poise on a creaky wooden floor
She did not tremble,
But smiled.

She has no hands to wipe her tears,
To console her heart; to wipe her fears.
So she never cries aloud;
She'll dance,
Because her feet are fine.