The spirit of Wales, and my memories of its people are captured in this poem.

The days are short,

the evenings, crisp,

thaw- frost heralds gray mornings.

Bird-song is scarce,

seagulls, inland.

Sea lashes

over the barriers.

Gone are the bikers,

gone are the hikers.

The town

is almost silent.

Then, music heralds Christmas Time -

the little town sparkles, and comes

alive,

with revelers and

carolers.

Walkers brave

the wind that

blows

o'er terraces,

fields, and mountains.

Shepherd and sheep

are safe inside.

And families sit

around the hearths,

with welsh dogs,

and glinting brasses.



We rise early

to hear the snow;

full of expectation

as mother lays the table.

“Pick, pock, puck,”

the sound of snow, as it gently falls

in soft and gentle thuds-

on the roofs of barns,

and places of worship.



A peace

descends,

casting a glow,

warming familiar faces.

And bless the hearts of child and man,

and bless the folk

across this land,

Croeso i Cymru.

Copyright 12/5/2015. Suzy Davies. All Rights Reserved.