Those rough hands were my medication, my heart-song and my light, for that is love. Love compacts the senses, and as when stardust so compacted in the universe, a new star is born with its own gravity and radiant light.
It is never the roughness of the hands but the temperament that matters. Show me a well tempered man and I see a great blessing. Gentleness, softness, comes from inner strength.
His rough hands were masterpieces, artwork built of a lifetime of stoic and practical love.
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