The Sheets Of My Verses Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Ah! my Monsignor below
The sheets of my verses
Read, think and read
For thought is of the verses
And Night is of their culture
And emotions there be
Synthesized and melt
In the foundry of the brain.
And the glow of sleepy
Cemeteries betrays
That they too are
As of the verses.
So the Poet Seer viewing
This; his power realizes
Sings more and more
And verses line the murals
Of the immense heavens
Though
The throat of the Poet Seer
Grows dry as he goes on
However bravely at a point
His elongated verses
Stop to rest.
Think, my Monsignor, think
Think.