Wales Wales, Land of my GrandMothers.
My soul must be partly an Island Shore
Where time over epochs anoint Feathers
My heart which has been spent in a Tower
Yearns for an Ancient Home where there are Droves
Endless and Elegant Moss of Ages
Triumphal Origin, GLory to all Kin.
Answer me, Answer me, ANswer me, Bird?
Why do you Pity me if not for Love?
Yet, what good can you do with your Feathers?
Do you write Verses as I do you Now?
Or are you enslaved by Beauty tol Art?
Birdsong is what to Legends of Arthur?
The Noble, the Epic, the Courteous.
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