My thumb is like a tough, bold soldier who lived in the war.
My index finger is like a mother, always pointing.
My middle finger is like a snobbish finger from Paris.
My ring finger holds up all the rings from my other fingers.
My pinky is smaller than a short pencil.
The lines on my hands are like different rivers running through the Rio Grande Mountains.
My hands stretch for the stars in the moonlit sky.
