By BernardYoung

A Roman in Chester

He was here at its birth.
Deva Victrix they called it
in his day.

And now here he is again.
But a fish out of water.
A soldier out of step.

‘Friends, Romans,
where are you?’

He knows no one.
And where
have all the landmarks gone?

Perhaps he is dreaming this.
Maybe he has gone mad.
Could it be that the gods

are punishing him
for some bad thing he did. Down
this strange straight street

he marches on. But is weary.
Is no longer a conqueror. Is less
himself. Is a shadow. Is gone.

Time Passages

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