ATHENS SEVEN A.M.

A poem about Greece

ATHENS SEVEN A M

 

The yellow cloud, rising over Athens

From the Parthenon to Psiri

Where the baglamas, played

With that Greek fervour

But is no longer heard

Above the daily noise of

Traffic and shouting

And the ancient, Athenian sun

Will be bourne from the islands

To burn off the noxious fumes

And release through the heavens

The sound of Greece, rising

Rising rising rising

To nowhere.