Ronald Stuart Thomas
Poems of Ronald Stuart Thomas
|23.||The Ancients of the World||1/3/2003|
|24.||The Cat and the Sea||1/3/2003|
|25.||The Dark Well||1/3/2003|
|26.||The Old Language||1/3/2003|
|28.||The Way of It||1/3/2003|
|30.||Thirteen Blackbirds Looking at a Man||1/3/2003|
A Welsh Testament
All right, I was Welsh. Does it matter?
I spoke a tongue that was passed on
To me in the place I happened to be,
A place huddled between grey walls
Of cloud for at least half the year.
My word for heaven was not yours.
The word for hell had a sharp edge
Put on it by the hand of the wind
Honing, honing with a shrill sound