Baby. 

On the floor they lay
Not a wrinkle or crease to save
Little hands do wave
Wanting to play

Young child. 

In dirt and muck
Hands still mild and soft
More by youth than luck
Plays the young child hands aloft

Teenager. 

Learning in school
For peers appear cool
In paint and ink
Their hands do stink

Young adult. 

Now working hard
Sweat and toil
midday sun, mad
Hands now a trowel

Middle age. 

Hands hard and worn
Some cut, sworn
Holds a child
Strong and mild

50 - 60

Wrinkles appear
Fingers and thumbs
On the rear
Liver spots like speckled crumbs

Old age (ish)

Wrinkled and lined
Courted and dined
Etched in  their story of life
Sprinkled with some strife

End of time. 

Transparent and Boney
Face hard set, maybe lonely
Hands wave a sigh
Soon to say goodbye


RG

Robert Green

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-lifetime-in-your-hands/