The Gate - Poem by Jack Worthington
One late afternoon I walked by a church
The saints long buried and returned to the earth
Their peace, now broken, posterity's token, has given birth
A baloon entangled itself in a birch.
I could not bear to look away
Yet the past could not bare false witness
As I watched that iron gate sway, guarding nothing but time delayed
The fast no longer held, the progeny exuding weakness.
Comments about The Gate by Jack Worthington
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You