Cotton wool clouds,
Stuck in clean blue skies,
Reflected by gamboling lambs,
On these waking Welsh hills.
The sun soaks into my skin,
And into this land,
Of rhapsodies,
And rolls Royce engines.
It tingles life,
As the budding signs,
Of another welcome Spring,
Emerge and surround.
Histories of grand people,
And workers of this land,
Echo through birdsong,
The bleating and the lowing,
And the shepherd dog barks.
Memories hidden in
Towering manors and holiday homes,
Farm yards and cottages,
Along bridleways and country lanes,
To forest tracks and forgotten footpaths.
One step forward slowly gently 