The Waters Be Not Sacred Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

The waters be not sacred
The small
Dragon of the Red Horns
The small horns
The small red horns
That on the bastions sits on nights
Rare
Where high elms and firs
Rustle
The growling of the night
The moments of the Grinding
The Rasping of the Sighs
Confession of aching Souls
And
A sparse interregnum of Peace so-called
When
The drums of war have ceased to throb
On the Valletta bastions
Beneath dark
Beneath light