Livinus Godswill Poems

The night liting it figs - rise a crescent day
In breezing and quite haste
Long within the sleeper's roost; creaks a rustic knob
Halfway in sordid air.
...

yester years, were like pleated mist,
Despairing… look at that lowly time, when even the lying looks of a youth
Like nature, now sore-foot, and the leaves are yellow,
Sadness wakes my heavy eyes to her dying earth. Happier, were those subtle days
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