Through The Wields Of Ancient Days Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Through The Wields Of Ancient Days



I passed the centuries
I grow older
I aged but with centuries:
I aged
I bent
The leaves turned sere with rage
Not age
The black milk that you drunk
When you were not running
Then resting was sunset
Yet it was not night
The first stars only were bright
The others were not yet lighted
The rumblings of the chariot of night
The golden axles of it had not
Trudged
Trudged the hammering skies
The wide-lipped heavens
The leaves turned sere the dawns
That failed
Into faded days.

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