I wander softly, gently,

Through the garden

Of my mind.

Trees outstretch their limbs

As if

In supplication.

They are my memories

My legacy

With no executor.

I drift on downward

Looking for the lost

Daffodil.

Flower of Wales

Inspiration

Of a wandering poet.

The blooms whisper

Soft tales of poet's words

Wherein the moon kisses the sea.

I sit silently

Above the silver brook

Smiling at the dancing fish.

I think I shall linger here

Until the darkness closes in.

Now I can think of you,

Bathing in the silence

Alone, with thoughts of you.

                                    _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Owain Glyn