A Welshman To Any Tourist Poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas
A Welshman To Any Tourist
We've nothing vast to offer you, no deserts
Except the waste of thought
Forming from mind erosion;
No canyons where the pterodactyl's wing
Falls like a shadow.
the hills are fine, of course,
Bearded with water to suggest age
And pocked with cavarns,
One being Arthur's dormitory;
He and his knights are the bright ore
That seams our history,
But shame has kept them late in bed.
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8/6/2026 6:23:25 AM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
Dificult for Americans - a big nation - to appreciate the sentiments of someone who belongs to a small one - but they should try. Especially when the writer can teach what illusions are formed when we refer to a mighty but apocryphal past.