This poem is taken from PN Review 36, Volume 10 Number 4, March - April 1984.
Mrs Frost
Turning my head a moment
from the geriatrics' ward
I see the bare wood bowed
quietly under the rain,
mists rising in silence.
Her white head is lowered
to her one good shaking hand,
clear thoughts rising from a body
...
from the geriatrics' ward
I see the bare wood bowed
quietly under the rain,
mists rising in silence.
Her white head is lowered
to her one good shaking hand,
clear thoughts rising from a body
...
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