CWMDONKIN PARK words inspired by a visit on: 24.04.00

Here as the wren bones

Stake out in my brain,

I see before me the slab,

Lost in the rushes,

Near missed in its confluences

Of near dead drapery.

And of the dark darkness

Of the undergrowth, in which boys played with

Muted rifle of wood, playing now

Stiller than the bay air, which can be heard

In the distance from

The Drive.

Quiet runs of the past evade my

Senses, but push back the memory of

The legend born into the park.

For hunchbacked, or not it runs through my

Veins to the tune of a frippery,

Only heard of by the dead.

The waters run on still in the new century,

And outside still Swansea beckons the life we lead,

Not withdrawn or senseless, just mocking the

Present and putrid airing of breath that is

Our time.