His hands were working hands.
Big, thick and strong.
Calloused and stained.
Creased with scars.
Smell of old beaten leather.
He wept like me, my Papa.
We painted with the same shade of blue.
Papa
Published
His hands were working hands.
Big, thick and strong.
Calloused and stained.
Creased with scars.
Smell of old beaten leather.
He wept like me, my Papa.
We painted with the same shade of blue.
Words Hurt 