Joy Of Getting Up The Hill Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

The joy of getting up
The hill
Seduced me to go
Up.

Winding the roads
And dust
Flies round the feet
With no respect
For this or that

I, Poet Seer by
My Muse only crowned
Laureate
With slow and
Measured steps
Rose up the hill


Each time I looked
And saw the top far.

But each time the top
Was nearer.

As I rose high
I felt my weight
Get light as
Feathers be

And I thought
Was this magic too?

And what was
This
That this post-Dawn
The hill I climbed
Whose dusty roads
Went round and round
Increasing the height and the
Length of road up
To the top?

Yet at the top
Looking down I felt
As looking on Parnassus
All around
And
Magic mists I feel
Felt around my feet
Honoring an erect
Poet Seer the world
Had placed in
Oblivion relative