Ancient Steps (Poetry)

The edge of each grey stone is worn and rounded now,
rubbed smooth by every sole and dipping hem
polishing its surface, drifting up and down,
a restless, rock-eroding tide of men
that echoes still - its busy ebb and flow
pounding against steps so long ago.

Bands of footsore pilgrims, pedlars balancing their trays
once trailed the surging hoi polloi along
well-trodden routes, streamed through narrow ways,
caught up like driftwood in a swirling throng
of human traffic measured since by wear -
the ancient scuff of feet upon a stair.