The Hamlet Project

Frailty, thy name is weak and brittle
Like dried yellow parchment
That falls apart at the slightest touch.
Woman, thy name is woman –
A slender green stalk that bends in the wind
A tree that reaches down and up
An ocean of movement
Rolling up, rolling down
Crashing and roaring
When pushed in the wrong direction.
Woman becomes frail
Like anyone becomes frail
When the life is draining out of her
Blood cooling
Energy waning
A leaf in winter
Ready to blow away into pieces.