Tree That Overlooks The Port

Tree that overlooks the port; for long Long decades; more, more, you were. Lone yet stately, winds and gales and Tempests tear the sea-breast, but not you. You see history as in a film; the asphalt Road, the houses are your cinema. You hear the night play the fugue of Sadness; even at Dawn it still lingers. Your that hear the night ghosts and Shrouds roam restless and lament. My mother with them, soon I. The night is made for them, they for it. And now the time is come to end This sadness; not destroy, transform. Into a ghost and shroud will I roam Restless old Valletta, heart-broken man.