The Old Bells
Ah! The old bells it was
Their fault
That I walked through the frost
Of winter that
Hung down the trees with
Their disheveled hair unkempt
And let down:
Like girls without having done
Their make-up:
I passed through the frost breathing
Out mist like a forge
Under the trees with hair
Let down
I passed, I walked, I suffered:
Ah! The old bells it was
Of the cathedral, their fault.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Added by Poetry Lover
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