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    Rabu, 26 April 2017

    The Ages

    The Ages

    (near Alise-Sainte-Reine, France)

    The hills in the distance,

    Growing green beards slowly,

    Surround themselves with fog

    That drifts like cigar smoke.

    Morning light, half shrouded,

    Half revealed, awakens

    My valley of brown and

    Yellow, of twisted trees.

    I picture an azure lake

    Near the green hills, where

    Fish frolic among reeds, where

    Many travelers once journeyed.

    Can the gentle morning

    And its lazy haze

    Hold time in limbo

    Like light in a prism?

    Can Vercingetorix gallop

    Once again across these

    Ravaged lands, this Alesia,

    And summon ambition’s breath?

    Yes. Yes. The Gaul is here.

    He rides his charging steed and,

    Through fog as white as

    In a remembered dream, stirs

    Strange emotions within

    An unknown writer

    In a valley.

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