Holyday for Dewi Sant. (The little things)




A long ride through remembered villages,
tide looking over the gate,
sheaves pilgrim plate,
sparrows still a chirrupin'
kith and kiss a givin'.


A long walk with friends ,
evening will see the stars,
Lord graciously hear us.


Louis MacNeice on the ever ready radio,
hazy, crazy city of fluid light,
to see town from the Lickey at night.

Happy family's play all around,
clean sound of air wishing time,
their is no crime,
only us.

Marston's double or drop,
take the money,
open the box.

The Swift charging for an LED flight
and the CBSO giving right.

A composer's work,
such gentle might,
Birmingham.

Lisa books a trip to seal land,
the sand lies in the gun emplacements,
seven branched candles are lit in windows,
tins of baked beans gather at the door,
my heart cries for David.

Let us talk to the starfish,
sing of love.

Small Welsh towns are knocking lights out of each other,
in Criccieth,
no security cameras see,
the visitors taste very nice this year,
so we'll,
bang lights out of each other,
in Criccieth.

Players of rugby all.

You have to pick a lot of cotton.
sign a bible of giros,
before you sing the blues.

Art gallery shoes,
all our cities flooded.

A Jaffa a day keeps the sun in play.

A British veteran from Palestine,
told me true,
I couldn't fire at them,
we were tired of killing,
when they came with such hope,
the sweet taste of the oranges,
that made them more than us.

I could not fire on them.

I retire to bring the shine back to the teapot,
shew the hens from the cowshed,
watch the cat cleaning her coat.

~