Dylan Thomas on Power

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 stroke the  brow;
A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;
Hands have no tears to flow.

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