Oblivion’s grace

OBLIVION’S GRACE In the deadness of Dove Wing Mrs. Martindale waits – For a Balt with an assortment of jars. She’s a bird that has fallen, Crashed into this place, This carpeted cage without bars. Stunned into quiescence, Imprisoned by age, What an end after flying so far! The trolley is squeaking – An Estonian… Continue reading