Welsh Journals

The hours plod like those distant afternoons But then I knew he'd come. O Sleep, my bed was his, my head Lay in his arm And now I have nor man nor child nor him To share my home. EDRICA Huws. Poem to the Paraclete WITH what hope the heart of the young girl Fluttered as she loitered where the flowers fall From the lime trees with delight she thought How He must see the swirl of her white skirt Against the tree trunks, hear from far away Her restless spirit cry Now I am waiting, how can You delay ? But when the summer shuddered and the sky Sped low above the gaping tracery And still she was alone, thin flakes of pride Fell from her heart the rattling leaves beside The road rose exiled at the autumn's word. The wind sweeps off the dead," she cried Look now on this bared heart, my Lord." The slender day, gripped in the paws of night, Wailed along ledged where the gulls alight: The rocks were cold but colder those that wall, Rooted in dust and clay, the empty cell That was her only shelter from the gale. Her spirit called out from its darkened home, My Lord, if You will come, Fat pride flows melting here to feed your flame." EDRICA Huws.