It seems only yesterday we were fine

How I yearned for the feel of your mouth

Your every touch would set me on fire

Whether north west east or south

The sight of smoke on the horizon

Haunts me now when I look back

For it was over yonder hill we flourished

Before my thoughts turned so black

That  dark column taunts my tortured eyes

Acrid embers still fly off in ...

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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...

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Today our air was strangely quiet,
great streams of grey dust up in the sky,
no planes allowed to fly for fear that,
their engines would soon be clogged and die.

And if the spouting volcano carries on,
for many more days to come,
will Iceland get all the blame,
from those that miss trips to the sun.

...

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