Hands.

Pearls, lace and sweet nothings are follies of the ladies,

Their ringing laughs and blood red lips are lust worthy.

Soft hands and battling eyelashes are key to riches that await,

While many woman afar wait for a change of faith.

Scorching heat and stale bread are all friends they have,

Bestowed by the blessings of a hungry stomach and a purse not so fat.

Vultures stalk children and men stalk women,

While we drink wine, many go broken.

Monster! Monster! Monster! They would scream to the sky.

“what kind of man has hands like that” we would say,

A man’s who hadn’t stopped working for a day.