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                                          To live in Wales,

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                                    Is to be mumbled at
                                    by re-incarnations of Dylan Thomas
                                    in numerous diverse disguises.

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                                    Is to be mown down
                                    by the same words
                                    at least six times a week.

 

                                    Is to be bored
                                    by Welsh visionaries
                                    with wild hair and grey suits.

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                                    Is to be told
                                    of the incredible agony
                                    of an exile
                                    that can be at most
                                    a day's travel away.

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                                    And the sheep, the sheep,
                                    the bloody, flea-bitten Welsh sheep,
                                    chased over the same hills
                                    by a thousand poetic phrases
                                    all saying the same things.

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                                    To live in Wales
                                    is to love sheep
                                    and to be afraid
                                    of dragons.

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2.

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                                    A history is being re-lived,
                                    a lost heritage
                                    is being wept after
                                    with sad eyes and dry tears.

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                                    A heritage
                                    that spoke beauty to the world
                                    through dirty fingernails
                                    and endless alcoholic mists.

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                                    A heritage
                                    that screamed that once,
                                    that exploded that one holy time
                                    and connected Wales
                                    with the whirlpool
                                    of the universe.

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                                    A heritage
                                    that ceased communication
                                    upon a death, and nonetheless
                                    tried to go on living.

 

                                    A heritage
                                    that is taking
                                    a long time to learn
                                    that yesterday cannot be today
                                    and that the world
                                    is fast becoming bored
                                    with language forever
                                    in the same tone of voice.

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                                    Look at the Welsh landscape,
                                    look closely,
                                    new voices must rise,
                                    for Wales cannot endlessly remain
                                    chasing sheep into the twilight.