You were my shadow in the darkness
of the kneading-trough.
I taught you to speak, to love;
named you for the child I lost,
Gwern, my Gwern.
I might lose myself in the hills of Harlech,
leave you trapped;
I might haunt these woods along the shore
and not return.
My finger traced the scales of your foot,
threw me back ten years
to a bark gate and a sheep track
where I played barefoot on rock.
You sent me flapping at the wind's whim,
a voice above the waves - to taunt
forbidden ships - to save you;
but the trees tonight are full of spring.
The beat of your wings brought breezes of home;
your eye's liquid, the lake my childhood lost;
under the milky way of your plumage,
my hopes go whirling through the dark.
Tan, some fabulous imagery, you've recreated an archaic atmosphere in a few well chosen words. I like both style and form. Rgds, Ivan
Wonder full :) p.s. seems I have to have 20 chars in order to post...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i am all a' tither from these images... please submit more of your work...