Tag: Íngrid Betancourt

  • ‘Form’ by Eva Gore-Booth

    The buried statue through the marble gleams, Praying for freedom an unwilling guest, Yet flooding with the light of her strange dreams The hard stone folded round her uncarved breast.   Founded in granite, wrapped in serpentine, Light of all life and heart of every storm, Doth the uncarven image, the Divine Deep in the…