Care and lack of care as subjects have preoccupied poets, playwrights and novelists since forever. So, from now on, a couple of posts a month will be literature. In some instances I might have some things to say about these works (or excerpts of works). In others, I'll let them speak for themselves. As does this one.
The Hand That Signed The Paper Dylan Thomas The hand that signed the paper felled a city; Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath, Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country; These five kings did a king to death. The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder, The finger joints are cramped with chalk; A goose's quill has put an end to murder That put an end to talk. The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever, And famine grew, and locusts came; Great is the hand that holds dominion over Man by a scribbled name. The five kings count the dead but do not soften The crusted wound nor pat the brow; A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven; Hands have no tears to flow.