Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Welsh Hills...

Welsh Hills...

The evening is raw and fallen,
The chill bone-deep upon the wind.

The stones by the solemn blue seaside are wary and drab,
Laid in a place where hearts rage in wounded silence.

There is a cold and ancient magic there,
Amid the barrows and monoliths in the Welsh hills.

It makes people sing.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/18/2009