Purple Blowing Wind Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

the waters turned to a purple
blowing of wind.

Ay! allow me to resist and
cry.

The drear is falling, falling,
falling already.

The trees weep and nightingales
sing not but cry.

charade
of
night
march
of
ghosts
and
shrouds
along
a high
steep
road
of red
grueling
charade

I found a man trembling, trembling
as per Earth

'I have a secret missile-plane to the
high skies

Will you ascend with me? '

His hurry made him still and in he
climbed with me
to the Altar of the High Heavens
whence our Earth be viewed
as a small dot.