In Loegria
I am the man
who lives to the east
of the Dyke.
Forgive me for this –
the finger of fate
and a broad, open gate
had long pointed the way;
and smooth
was the tongue which
enchanted the Plain.
I wandered behind
the procession of blind
seven centuries long.
I turned to the west:
but the broad gate was gone.
Exile
When daylight dies upon the shrouded hills
and a veil is cast upon the unclothed fields,
and the journeying sun sinks low –
when woods lie speechless
and the voice of the wind is stilled,
and waves lie quiet as a sleeping breast –
when the pale young stars portend
the Sabbath of the night
and her spell falls gentle on the resting earth,
I think of home.
From ‘Welsh Past and Present’
© 2023 Dafydd Hughes Lewis. All rights reserved. 
Wonderful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Anthony, and apologies for this long overdue reply – there was a ‘glitch’ in WordPress which I was unable to fix, and went a good few weeks not knowing about anyone’s replies. Glad you liked this one. I wrote it when we lived in the Essex/Hertfordshire region of England, due to lack of opportunities in Wales; I really wanted to return home, at that time. It’s a poem which the late Meic Stephens liked very much; he published it in his ‘Poetry Wales’, and earmarked it for an anthology, ‘Fifty Years of Welsh Poetry, 1917-1967’, which unfortunately never materialised; it pleased me greatly when, some ten or twelve years later we met on the Maes, and he straight off quoted the final lines to me.
LikeLiked by 1 person