Welsh Journals

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THE VAN POOL FAIR dooze and red rims eye. The World Whose sparing goddam curses curled To fix like tea on blunt Glamorgan In the shadowed ball of bran. Fair weather horse sense to tamed amuser Whose pity chimnies land in cruiser The blue-black day from Saxon grey A view of spat and permanent way. Vinegars swallow filleted ha--chaps And pretzels obey raw ginger nips How then avoid red-rim eyes ? Oh my I Lord don't hide our sky-wished dyes. KEIDRYCH RHYS. MORNING COMES AGAIN MORNING comes again to wake the valleys And hooters shriek and waggons move again, And on the hills the heavy clouds hang low, And warm unwilling thighs crawl slowly Out of half a million ruffled beds. Mrs. Jones' little shop will soon be open To catch the kiddies on the way to school, And the cemetery gates will chuckle to the cemetery-keeper, And the Labour Exchange will meet the servant with a frown. Morning comes again, the inevitable morning Full of the threadbare jokes, the conventional crimes, Morning comes again, a grey-eyed enemy of glamour, With the sparrows twittering and gossips full of malice, With the colourless backyards and the morning papers, The unemployed scratching for coal on the tips, The fat little grocer and his praise for Mr. Chamberlain, The vicar and his sharp short cough for Bernard Shaw, And the colliery-manager's wife behind her pet geranium Snubbing the whole damn lot I Idris DAVIES.