He is neither an angel nor a man
who does not weep when the harp sings.
6th century Breton bardic poem.
The harp is wound with silver dreams
listeners reflect on timeless things,
grace notes touch their heart strings
as they walk beside winding streams
picturing the halls of noble kings.
Beautifully created and shared through your verses, Kenny; you've awakened my Breton (and thus, Celtic) heritage once again. Thank you! Love and peace to you,
Regis