Wooden pillars squeak in the afternoon wind

Waters slap against the shore

Not angrily but without end

Bleached bright pier reflects the sun

Man holds his pole on a “No Fishing” sign

Like a catch would have been fun

The sky so tantalizing blue

It fools you into thinking

The water is too

The sun also plays games with your mind

Shimmering off the murk...

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version without the Welsh folklore

Under the yellow-green of sunlit beech

between banks of bluebells' hazy blue

where supple crosiers of new fern reach             

over verdant moss still damp with dew

a grassy lane runs beside the river

In the mystic quiet of a leafy dome

of grey bark ash, beech and mighty oak

a far cuckoo calls all walkers home

but we pass u...

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Under the yellow-green of sunlit beech

between banks of bluebells' hazy blue

where supple crosiers of new fern reach             

over verdant moss still damp with dew

a grassy lane runs beside the river

In the mystic quiet of a leafy dome

of grey bark ash, beech and mighty oak

a far cuckoo calls the dryads home

but we pass unseen by woodland folk

'til tylwyth teg w...

Read and leave comments (4)