She lives on the wall of my lounge
In the wilds of Wales
Where I’ve lovingly tried to nifidicate
For her carved ceramic being.
But it's petty and unremarkable--
And truly not enough.
Unworthy of the tales--
That are hers alone to tell.
The consanguineous nature of her heritage
Weighing down heavily--
In yellow and blue.
Only she knows the deleterious nature
Of the levy.
As assiduously as I can, I whisper to her in hushed tones—
‘Where are they?’
But she never answers.
And I cannot bear to know.