THE WELSH CENTENNIALS

Wind batters their beauty
Forcing them to cry
Through cloud filled curtains
Their peaks roam the sky.

Collecting the tear drops
Falling from high
Streams carry them downwards
Around rocks far from dry.

The cold wind strengthens
Ripping through gaps
Weeping white garments
Clothing their caps.

Snow wrestles with rocks
In a ballet of strength
In winter tops glisten
But melt with the days length.

In Cyms nestle waters
Sheltered from breeze
Guarded by pinnacles
Just waiting to freeze.

Pearls form on boulders
Bars drip from the stream
Pools imprisoned, iced over
With patterns that gleam.

Reflections of crags
With Ravens in flight
Seek to break silence
That hide from the sight.

Trees on the crests, clinging
Falling, not yet
Perilous their existence
Until seeds are set.

Man endeavours to tame this
Survival his aim
With cottages built strong
Which nature reclaims.

Revolution, nay need
A century now past
Man scars the hillsides
His mission still lasts.

With every new winter
She claims back some ground
To add to her beauty
But the wind still abounds.

Whistling up valleys
Screaming through trees
Ripping at branches
Destruction at ease.

Whispering whispering
Through grass and reed
The Ghosts of the mountains
Will never, never recede.