 |
| House |
 |
| Back garden |
 |
| Front garden |
Quarrying Slate
You were tied to this house
Where sheep and their lambs
Now shelter and graze
- Roofless today -
A new station nearby
Is where tourists
Arrive
"Who lived in that house?"
For the world you made slates
And you too had a roof
And four walls
- God knows not much else -
Apart from your Sundays
Which always were dry
For repeated long walks
- The chapel on high -
Sunday pint at the inn
The last preacher long gone
Soon my train will arrive
- You will greet me anon -
 |
| A visitor |
Simply beautiful. Don’t know how one could leave it.
ReplyDeleteThank you Donal. Heartbreakingly beautiful is much of Wales. Here's to hiraeth!
DeleteI don't know why but I think of the Welsh as a grim people. Maybe that's Wales of long ago.
ReplyDeleteGrim? Bryn Terfel, Max Boyce, Harry Seacombe, Dylan Thomas, Tom Jones, Gareth Bale, Richard Burton . . . OK maybe the Tudors were grim, I'll give you that :) but as you say 'twas long ago.
DeleteThose Welsh quarries provided roofing slate to the world. Now mother nature landscapes them. Great poem.
ReplyDeleteThanks Dave, and as you correctly say Wales roofed the world. Some of the bigger slate quarries like Ffestiniog now have mountain bike tracks. I think there's even a lift to take them to the top so they can hurtle back down. Sounds like fun if your a bit nuts. I prefer the running trails myself.
DeleteA very handsome visitor.
ReplyDeleteA bit odd in the head though . . .
Delete.you can say that again!
DeleteNoted.
Delete