POMPEII

Once I walked in the rain, thro’ a silent street,
on a cold October day.
No traffic, no sound of hurrying feet,
no laughter of children at play.
Just the hiss of the raindrops, that raised puffs of dust
as they beat on the dry arid ground,
Disturbing the stillness and breaking the silence
that hung, like a shroud, all around.
And still the rain fell, till the dust ceased to rise,
and the water spilled onto the road.
Found the ruts that were worn there by chariot wheels,
became little rivers that flowed
Past the wine-sellers shop, with it’s vast earthen pots
once filled with the wine of the land.
Now empty, and crumbling, the pottery tumbling
to lie in the bottom, like sand.
Next door, in the bakers, stood great cones of stone
where the miller had once ground his wheat.
His last batch of bread there, now blackened and charred,
tho’ it ne’er felt the stone oven’s heat.
And I wandered through houses that still retained signs
of beautiful homes they had been.
I walked on mosaic of many designs,
gazed in awe at each wall fresco scene.
Then I stood on a stage, where actors once played,
surrounded by tiered seats of stone
And I mused on the plays, and the great tragedies
lost in time, never more to be known.
Yes, I peopled that town, with ghosts from the past
Shared their lives for a moment that day
Then the rain ceased to fall, and a silence so vast
dropped it’s shroud, once again, on Pompeii.