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Clouds

Rating: 2.9

Down the blue night the unending columns press
In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow,
Now tread the far South, or lift rounds of snow
Up to the white moon's hidden loveliness.
Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless,
And turn with profound gesture vague and slow,
As who would pray good for the world, but know
Their benediction empty as they bless.

They say that the Dead die not, but remain

Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth.
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
s.vimal 28 July 2018

super,,,,.....

0 0 Reply
DANIEL OLOTU 15 September 2016

Add a comment I love this poem. finely put forth with the necessary low toned melancholy.i respect this man with his plain unsugared tale.stuffs rich poetry are made of.

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