I always notice a persons hands.
They are not the most obvious thing,
but they tell far more than the face or eyes.
You cannot hide a lifetime of work
in cragged, sinewy hands that bear
a resemblance to the claws
of some terrible lizard; soft, callous free
hands tell their story just as clearly.
Hands of privilege and work
wear no masks, they are afforded none.
They wear ease and hardship in even strokes.
Be weary of anyone unwilling to shake hands.
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