The road to my mother's house gets long, And one day will be closed to me. When she is gone All her belongings will be distributed amongst her children, And given to Oxfam.
As the body fades the Spirit pervades All is a conduit for what has been and what will be. Pain is the transformer Love is the vehicle Life is the conduit of continuum.
Queen of castles, Caernarfon stands quiet (silent history of tyranny). Sonar calls of estuary birds vibrating the night Beneath her western walls. From the Anglesey Arms A Welch air whistles. Across the estuary Rigging slaps and tinkles on masts. By spirit-dark mystery Welch pride holds fast.
Between white lines On close cropped green, In white they dance And strike, With rackets highly strung, A yellow ball. A tensioned net divides between The tensioned strokes of coiled spring That sends the wild ball coursing.
Lay me down on sun soaked sand; Sigh the sea, seagulls flying over me. Dream, oh dream so peacefully The happy time of I and thee. Rest my weary mortal bones As the traveller returns home. How sweet the smell of pastures green Far from the hell where I have been.