In a cozy house, there lived a little boy with his daddy. Daddy's hands were always so big and warm.

With his hands, Daddy would lift the boy high into the air, playing superheroes saving the day.

When something was broken, Daddy's hands were there, fixing toys and mending chairs with care.

In the kitchen, those hands worked like magic, crafting meals that made the boy's tummy ecstatic.

At night, Daddy's hands tucked the boy in bed, pulling blankets snugly, kissing his forehead.

The boy felt brave with Daddy near, his hands a symbol that there was nothing to fear.

Those hands clapped the loudest at the boy’s school play, showing pride and love in every way.

On cloudy days, Daddy's hands would catch raindrops, turning gloomy moments into fun non-stop.

If tears ever fell from the boy's eyes, Daddy’s hands were there to wipe the skies.

Daddy’s hands would hold books, stories to share, worlds of adventure filled with care.

And when the boy grew weary, Daddy's hands would carry, assuring him with a hug so merry.

The boy knew that Daddy's hands were a treasure, bringing endless safety and warmth beyond measure.