A Man Past His Middle Age Looks Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

A man past his middle age looks from
The dirty wooden bridge over the waters
That flow drear as the overlying
Heavens. Think, human, think,
How drear be life even in most joyous
Moments.

Of old are the charnel houses, we
For ourselves proposed Immortality
But are still struggling up the river
Currents against still
Not winning a medal.

A man past his middle age looks from
The dirty wooden bridge over the waters
That flow drear as the overlying
Heavens. Think, human, think,
How drear be life even in most joyous
Moments