Llandegfedd 

 Sparkling damselflies

Dart through fields of cow parsley,

And golden buttercups.

Swooping herons 

Circle over

The gatherings of geese from canada

Swollen mouunains on horizons of pastel blue 

The shade of treelined paths

Covering against the hot midday sun

Lead up into ancient woodlands

Bordering farms 

And their ancestral tracks

You can almost hear

The squeeking of cartwheels

And the clip clop of hooves

On broken Welsh stone.

A quiet glove of nature

Holds the still blue waters of Llandegfedd 

Bustling with boards and boats

Friends and fishermen

Pathways lead through wooded glens

Rarely trodden

And oft forgotten

Back to the shore

With its stone pier

Leading to hidden rooms

A secret place.