Someone has brought with them
a great blob of Welsh weather
and daubed it across the Madeiran sky.
Pebble grey and blue, striated
with the Vallies'dreams
and the chorus of dead protest.
It lurks like a smoky puma,
confident of its murderous strength,
waiting for its moment to descend.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem