It Was In The First Lights. Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
It Was In The First Lights.
It was in the first lights.
Or even just before.
A hub of white dressed
Ghosts and shrouds hurrying
Entered into the coppice sacred
And into fumes, fogs, mists
Dissolved.
Wednesday, September 13, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: ghosts
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8/29/2026 6:18:23 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
