Frail Deeds

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Dylan Thomas, Do not go gentle into good night

Frail deeds, 
that bury the dead,
when they may as well 
have buried themselves.

Frail deeds,
ephemerally pressed,
when they are etched on
chivalry’s crest.

Frail deeds,
that live no more,
that see, and breathe
and drift ashore.

Frail deeds,
that shone in the sun,
are now more dark
than they ever were dull.

© achillesheelpoetry, 2022


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