porfa’r cynddeiriog

Oh I yen for the mad fields
those pastures then aflame
that to my youthful ardour yielded
when it seemed untameable,
within its grasses did I wander
and golden were the waves
unrestrained they pulled me under
my soul, had I these moments saved
but here these fields sit long in fallow
sanity’s cold ashes blend
with age’s reason…so I must follow
now until the seasons end.


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