Whatever, then.
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’
© 2022 Dafydd Hughes Lewis. All rights reserved. 
This one is so full of hiraeth it makes me cry.
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Thank you, Jacydo. If there’s to be a specific location – and of course there need not be – I was thinking of Pontardulais with this one, where Lewis-es have farmed and lived since about the seventh decade of the 19th c. I still have relatives there, but we are somewhat estranged, and they know nothing at all of their ancestors of the 19th. Pass me a tissue.
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Excellent, really like its. Would you tolerate me reading the poem on my YouTube page?
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Thank you, Dafydd! Happy indeed that you feel like that about this one. I’d me honoured if you’d do a reading of this on your You Tube page, and look forward immensely to hearing it. Diolch yn fawr!
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I agree with Jacydo on the hiraeth; would also include continuity. So often, at home, standing on the cliffs watching the sea, I think of all those before and those yet to come who will look and listen to the waves, enjoy the first pinks and thrift and the glow of the gorse. There’s sadness mixed with content and a sense of timelessness and inevitability. Thank you, too, to Dafydd Owen for the reading. I’m hoping to hear more of your poems read.
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Thank you, Roma. I imagined this to be set in some indeterminate future. Yes, there’s a hiraeth in continuity; ‘Melin Trefin’ expresses it finely.
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A tender, wistful portrait of a place held dear and a desire for continuation. Diolch unwaith eto Dafydd, a bitter-sweet gem. Dwi’n cytuno hefo Jacydo a Roma! Diolch i Dafydd Owen hefyd am ddarlleniad teimladwy.
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Diolch, Gill. Ie, mewn dyled i Dafydd Owen am y darlleniad braf a teimladwy.
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