In The Bosky Wood Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

In The Bosky Wood



In the bosky wood
the feast of spring
is far now:
now too far
winter has just begun
and long days of frost await
and tempests threaten nights
cold the streets; rain
the blinding of the stars;
mists rising to strange lights.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success