Jonathan Finch
Many years ago (too long ago to mention days or months)
A lonely man crossed a courtyard,
Once, twice, three times, crossing that gravelly space.
I saw him twice, thinking chance had led me on,
But on the third occasion (oh, that dear face!)
How could I doubt he crossed and recrossed the yard
Dictated to by something found and lost?
<a href="https://libreshot.com/tag/czech/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Source</a>
Grey buildings, miserably massive backed by colossal stretches of polluted sky,
Conspired to contain that yard, its solitary figure pacing to and fro.
Briefly then there’s hardly any occasion upon which I,
Or any other, could write about such an occasion
Except now when the grey buildings and the yellow yard,
Crossed and recrossed by that man who disappeared one day
As bright and artificial as tin, became
The isolated deeds of this isolated act.
<a href="http://www.uni-mainz.de/eng/13123.php" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Source</a>
