Wednesday, 28 March 2012

Cymru Reborn

The Shaky Bridge is solid and firm

The ground beyond, lumps and bumps

A forgotten and vanished village


Just a field and a church

Painted stones and ancient timbers

The heather rises, climbing the hill

We ascend like the purple scrub

The old castle, ghosts of Normans’ swords clashing, Glendower’s

Bloody retribution a shadow, a memory

borne on the breeze lifting the wheeling kite


Below, the girl waits, two dogs by her side, the river

Ithon swirling sluggish past

As it curls through the town, past the Roman

rubble, the Lover’s Leap, the Spa,

the dripdrip of chalybeate metallic aqua

and the heart of Cymru bleeds

For its lost children.

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