May 16, 2020
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn #oilpastelart #birdsofinstagram #art #createtoinspire #createtive #drawing #oilpasteldrawings (at Paldi, India) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAQibjrheUD/?igshid=13tto6a35xe41