Welsh Journals

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Lady Diana told the decadent rhymster in one of Anstey's Voces Populi"; consequently, my verse is rare, because it has been rarely attempted. Alice Abadam, then well over eighty, died peacefully at Bryn Myrddin, the residence of her nephew, Ryle Morris, and was duly buried in the graveyard of St. Mary's Roman Catholic Church at Carmarthen on April 4th, 1940. She had chosen an opportune place and moment for her departure from this world, for the great World War of today was about to enter into a yet more violent and distressing phase, so that she was spared an additional burden of anxiety in her extreme old age. Wing-span of Wales, Peevish and plaintive they; The waiting wire. Now lingering fall In the sour peat pluck And talon-tear Sweet flesh That might have been sweeter. Brecknock Unvisited ABOVE the lichened tank-trap, The furtive minefield Fenced in rust, Where in the west Only the wounded sun Bleeds into Llyn-y-fan, Shouldering Fan Gihirich The buzzards hang; Over Brecknock swing, Hang and hunger Over red earth. That might have been redder. Having known once Marrow of slain serfs And white-eyed princes, Knowing not why Only the wind moans, Only the rain rusts To the dead lamb HARRY GREEN.