The train left the station, picking up pace,
As I stood on the hill, with the Sun on my face,
A familiar sight, that I saw every day,
In the place I grew up, just across the way.
Brought up in a house, built from old Welsh stone,
With no fancy car, or telephone.
I still hear the echoes, to this very day,
From a home filled with sunshine, come what may.
At the top of our garden, there stood an old swing,
Where I loved to sit, from the start of the Spring,
I'd dream of the future, with smile on my face,
My own little haven, my favourite place.
The train leaves the station, picking up pace,
As I stand on the hill, with the Sun on my face,
The years have passed quickly, with memories grand,
Of my special valley, my special land.
Jayne Louise Davies
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem