Tales of the Rhymney Valley
Turn the pages, slowly, with the touch of fairies
And lo, between the leaves you spy
Lovers sleeping in heather, stars-a-skylarking, and bells
Endlessly pealing in Pwll Cylla,
Sounding the love of Gwladus across the valley of years.
Only listen, and in the winds kiss, swaying the catkins,
Far-off Morlais can be heard, and the Severns mermaid song.
This is the dream you enter, peopled with Giants,
Haunted with dog-like steps, the spectral pale of banshees,
Envy, trapped in a green eternity, and sad hunchbacks.
Restored, straight and tall in the moons shadow,
Hobmen-scheming their antics defying a goblins rancour,
Youth is eternal here, and hooded poachers,
Moonlight, furtive, run scared from the rabbits dizzy dance.
No devils triumph sung, no braggarts boast
Echoed across canyons, no lovers left, unquiet.
Yearning, weeping rivers like the trees of sad Sannans
Vale: here, in these tales, fired in the minds black rock,
All evils are vanquished in the kingdom of kindness; and giants,
Lolling in one-eyed sloth, are hoodwinked by little boys guile.
Learnt from fairies,
Even now, as you turn to a new page,
You can hear them, garlanded in yellow broom, laughing
PETER K. MORGAN
Key Contact: Rhymney Valley Tales
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