Oh how I wish I had the words
to match the memory,
imagination’s sand
reality
that slips through longings to express
the beauty that I see,
the power sensed and felt
of wooded Wye and Tintern’s stone,
the wave soaked cliffs of Pembroke’s coast,
how Cader Idris scrapes the sky,
yes, even steel works grey with dust,
and dark mouth adits long forgot…
Oh how I wish I had the words
to link my memory
to your desire to see
reality,
and thus to sense, to grasp, to hold
the world around your world,
by it inspired,
there, in your room,
to walk the valleys, climb the mounts,
to hear each thrush and chapel sing,
from Newport out to Anglesey
your journey
through such words.
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