OLD LADY She who is worn down, led away from, wandering, bitten into, gaping open, shrinking, lying withdrawn, deaf-dotty: self-working beasts' paws, tenderly budded, pound her fall-dead fear in dark conundrum mood. She married a spotless, polished home and reared her spotted children on the gospel of good food. Then suddenly her whirlwheel jumped the rails into ill-starred unlucky days. Life rubbed away in talk. Now shaped in weakness, doing dregs, mayhap and full of mind, abandoned of broken words, she waits in dreary, ghostly dusk on a cold, once sportive bed with secret whispers roaring . . .
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