It stands there still,
that ancient wall
of Roman times
through wars gone wrong.
Its bricks, some crumbled,
yet holding strong
like childhood memories of long ago.
Feel the spirit
of the hands
that toiled with mortar
in a distant land,
whose eyes gazed yonder
beyond the knoll,
where the river runs, since days of old.
Tears dry up and
Dreams get packed and
Set sail on barges
the river timeless, its water cold.
The heart remains
to beat its drum
and tell its stories
one by one,
until a life from memories told
reveals its mystery to behold.
In quiet silence the river flows
Crumbled hands now
touch that wall
of newer times
through years gone wrong.
The heart still beating,
yet holding strong,
from childhood memories of long ago.
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Comments about this poem (The Wall by Pat Kunisch )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1618 – 28 July 1667)
- leticia s david
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(November 9 - 1937)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
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