Welsh Journals

Poem from Kemeys Folly NoTING first my head has topped the world Mocking the lower winds among the trees Where the madman carved his hearth till he grew old And the sun set mad between his mocking toes, Noting how this grey and signal tower Flashes its messages out to the sun, My leaping heart dreams miracles of power And prints the words of Severn as they run. Forgetting almost that the vixens move With vixen cunning as the pheasants know, And that our last romantic beat of love Has felt the pulse of frost and grieves the snow, Forgetting from sad parishes the clay Over banking fires was built to ocean walls And for its winter cattle must employ Its groins of water and its bellyful of snails. Remembering the snaresman and the poor With guilty lines establishing our guilt What horseman feared before the robber's spore But progressively admired. the patchwork cult. Remembering, too, the sickle flight of gulls With sickle wings abolishing my head Till my lips cry and lisp the secret hills And lay their secrets out till I am dead. WILLIAM MORGAN.