Poem By Peter Jones
All bright this day in Clarbeston
and soft the railway station dreams
in birdsong roared, while midges dance.
It seems the daffodils hear nothing
but nod their heads at passing trains
and see them all, in knowing glance.
Wild grass and moss make curtain calls
amid the hazel sentinels.
Walls now lost in gorse
unfurl bright banners to the past.
Hold fast the peace of solitude
in great Welshness of the afternoon,