The Gem

A Garret Poet

Yr Wyddfa

The Gem
Form: Cyhydedd Hir

Her valleys of green
where ancients have been
as she stands serene
my Motherland.
On Yr Wyddfa's soul
where shy sheep cajole
and my eyes extol
Her gentle hand

She's scarred by walkers
and deafened by talkers
She's flown by hawkers
on the sea sand.
My heart is in Wales
despite Winter gales
for I long for tales
of Celtic bands.

Of Cerridwen and Bards
Taliesin's blackguards
faded fragment shards
at Her command.
Annwfn beckons me
to look and to see
magic mystery
in Motherland


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