Hands (a poem)

HANDS

What do you see when you look at these hands,
So worn and so rough?
Do you see a man, both coarse and slow of wit?
These hands were once smooth, nimble and quick-
Gently caressed a first love,
Once held a newborn child, and laid a friend to rest.
These hands have answered what ever the need.
Providing for loved ones,
No matter the twists of fate or the roll of the dice.
Judge not a man by his clothes or his looks
If his hands are velvety smooth, or callused and rough
But by his acts of love.

Bob Richards