The Welsh One

We gazed from Cardiff’s seafront

as the diamond radiance

of a million stars

glittered in summer’s midnight.

I spoke of my soul’s breech

by the songs of Bassey,

Jenkins

and the Jones’ boy,

of my tears’ cascade

at the majesty of Snowdon,

the Mumbles

and the hills of Abergavenny.

We stood in celtic brotherhood,

transfixed by moonlight’s

shimmering dance

with the living ocean.

I told of my senses’ thrill

at the rampage of JPR,

Jackson

and old Giggsy,

of my lifeblood’s surge

at the splendour of the valleys,

the mountains

and the sands of Aberystwyth.

I asked,

“Is that the Bristol Channel

or the Irish Sea?”

He snapped,

“Are you some sort

of a bloody Englishman?”