Dyma gartref

On the hills
above the grey houses,
but below the azure sky
there are ghosts
going about their business.

Some are gossamer,
they dance unconcerned,
others are dark clouds,
brooding,
closing out the sun.

It matters not
as I chose the fragrance,
the coolness of clean air,
the wind songs, everlasting,
healing, teaching of the
cycle of death and rebirth.

I can hear the land sleeping,
see the sheep, still as monuments,
a handful, specks of white grazing.
They might have been there forever,
scenting as I do, the fragrance
that lies all on the place.

The clock ticks, still I cannot leave;
instead, I listen as I am sung to
in different voices;
those of castles and cottages,
battle cries of ancient victories,
the joy of the tilling of the soil;
and so I walk the deep summer day
as careless, like tidemarks,
the hedgerows become painted
with blackthorn and may.

By and by, a rabbit tilts its head
above a grassy parapet; inquisitive,
hearing, as I do, the songs,
though time has long erased
the written stone;
and sunlight no longer falls
on castle walls and cottages
that hug the ground, as stone
without memory – left around.

But the rabbit knows.

3 comments

  1. Douglas,

    ” time has long erased
    the written stone;”

    This poem is a vision. The rabbit knows.

    Almost other-worldly, and yet there is a universal aspect
    that makes the reader feel a deja vu. I have never been
    to Wales, but I sense the ghosts and in the lines that you
    have penned I hear the songs.

    This is a splendid piece of poetry!

    Thank you for sharing it here.

    Sarah

    Like

  2. Douglas, through your words I have walked the place you know well and heard the sounds and smelled the scents. These words:

    “I can hear the land sleeping,
    see the sheep, still as monuments,
    a handful, specks of white grazing.
    They might have been there forever,
    scenting as I do, the fragrance
    that lies all on the place. ”

    I have seen the sheep up the mountains in Sweden, “specks of white, still as monuments” and I have heard the clock ticking and could not move. Your words reveal your knowing: the place, a companion you are bound to hold.
    Thank you.
    ptc

    Like

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