Wooden Bridge Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

When the wooden bridge was
Creaking
The winds were coming up from
The port
Climbing up the bastions
Winning the resistance of warm facades
Of houses and palaces
With flushed faces
This is Valletta…


Oaks in the garden creaking
The wind missile through
Their bows
Was busy all
The night.
Then at the Dawn it stayed

We
We of the grim haggard
Faces
Are not cheered by the
Dawn
We come from night
And dark
And howling winds
Those be our places….