Poems September 1990
Walking from Conimbriga
Within that early, Portuguese, morning light, the stranger roamed about the Roman ruins, amid the shattered columns, gardens, and bathsall crushed by barbarous hordes in 458 . . . And later, at the crowded railway station, he learned about the vicious transit strikeand how they'd stranded everyone, young and old, and stopped the country dead in its tracks.
Beneath the burning skies and blazing sun,
making my way, ten miles north, to Coimbra,
I walked beside an aged woman in black,
who had, without complaint, embraced her fate.
"Never succumb." She gently whispered and warned,
slowly passing the lightly tinted fields,
"My son, in Beira, lost all he had
but all we've lost are hours in the mid-day sun."
A Message from the Editors
Support our crucial work and join us in strengthening the bonds of civilization.
Your donation sustains our efforts to inspire joyous rediscoveries.
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 9 Number 1, on page 54
Copyright © 2024 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com
https://newcriterion.com/issues/1990/9/walking-from-conimbriga