Above Llanberis near the foot of Snowdon
on Betws-y-Coed road, its tarmac line
a weary winding through the grassy foothills,
beside a lake which gleams in heaven’s shine:
a lay-by overlooking silent waters
whose dancing shades call gently back the sight
of mountains’ waves, beneath their heathered risings
of Autumn hues, with breaks of snowy white:
a roadside map the vista clear displaying
too cold for study, Snowdon peak in cloud –
but smile your open face transforms so warmly
when, hand in hand, we run with hopes part vowed:
for there I see those lapping waters lighting
their brightness in the blueness of your eye,
reflections which are symbols of a freedom
arising in your heart’s desire to fly,
transported far above the aching worries
of earth’s ensnaring cells and window bars,
to sky’s pure ether of your dream’s contentment
that lies awaiting you midst glowing stars.
Such freedom glances, with its quiet questions,
through eyes that wonder at the future state
of friendship newly found and slowly forming
its pattern in us by Llanberis slate.
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