The birds will still be busy by the window,
the grass still grow too fast along the path;
within it and above small things
will chirp and flutter, and on the twigs
young buds will form and break.
The Goppa will remain aspiring skyward
(and cheeky, leaping downward, Nant-yr-Allt )
with fields that fasten close, and blackthorn
scrambling up it; and silly sheep will wander
on its sides. And the ancient wind
will whisper by them always, and sun or stars
look down upon them all. The east
will still be where it was this morning,
and evening rose and gold lie in the west.
Whatever, these will be the same as always –
and nothing else will matter, will it, then?
From ‘Welsh Past and Present’