upon Llangernyw Yew
so you grand tree does thee wait
guard the dead and call them out
in st dygain’s yard beyond the gate
there you wait, date to date,
on the promise, all hallows eve
all the world’s ear leans towards that tree
not wanting to hear that prophetic voice
and bear witness to angelystor, no, not by choice
for role is the call of the dead
might your name, might be read
do not be bold and curse the land
for bear you will with Rhobert’s hand
and know now that halloween has past
your name not whispered cross those limbs
from the depths of that ancient root
you are not called back bound eternity
under that shadow of Llangernyw Yew
notes… so my friend inspiration came knocking, we have been sort of passing each other on the street in sight so often, but this time a knock on the door from an old friend, invited in, sit down for a bit of tea, yes, I am a sucker for earl grey, burgamot is citrus after all, a unique lemon, I know not why I get the visit, I just sit and listen, and so transcribe my notes… (I will annotate this poem later with my many references, as I am known to do)
Shades of My Garden 