Fierce falls the rain
Summer's spite.
Beats down my wheat
and steals the light.
Like the raging wind
which bends and breaks the tree
The wrath of Amaryllis is to me.

Of all the torments of the north
I hold the wind most grim
Scything the very hope from my heart
tears of ice thrown raging back
to scour my soul
folorn curses fail and falter
till mute I quail before its barren ire
eye imploring mercy
from uncaring natures might
are blinded by its savagery
As it tears away my sight
Of all the torments of the North
I hold the wind most grim

What can I show you in this town..
The drear of horizons blocked,
tired light slumping over callous concrete cubes.
The background smell of estuary mud,
God forbid we scratch the surface, let the stench out.
Broken men in stained trousers walk their dogs
House, shop, cigarettes, cider.
Wind , trying to carry the scent of green, merely stirs the dead hopes that writhe drily in the gutter, earthworms caught in the sun .
Women sit, brightness long faded, waiting for daylight to cough its way through misery stained-glass.
Cathedrals of emptiness echo hollow, as the wait for nothing to happen drags by.

She wears the beauty of the morning
like a meadow gently dew-clad
sighs of springs fair breeze
play against my cheek
as we walk through chalk-rooted meadows
She hugs the stones
like a child holds her mother
then departs their grasp smiling eyed
Weaving around stones
Weaving between worlds
We are two strands of this ancient thread
sewing and binding us together through timeless ages
life and love
land and lore
And when we pass beyond these sacred days
the blooms that climb anew each spring
Will carry in their scented flower
the memory of we lover's power

Build your nests of red bricks and stone
Dig your holes and bend the world to your will
The wind carries the scent of your folly to me

I may choose to dwell amongst the untrodden ways
or perch upon your spired vanity
but cherish not with pride the beloved ways of man
for what you make or take richens my domain

You may abide my enemies
but my triumph is centuries long
I have danced in the clouds with the souls of dead poets
and marked the long leagues
from the mountains to the sea

The skies are mine
My joy you never see
Tied to the earth
Forever burdened be

I am Miss Eluned Cyfeiliog the Warm
lonely in my life
my blue eyes look for distant mountains
where no choirs or trumpets sound
In Llwnypia I am oppressed by grief
At Mynnydd Du melancholy stalks me
I sought the bishops and the holy men
but winter is cold and the ocean grey
I loved the forests quiet glades
Pity the maiden who lingers in such courts

Towton Tall

A blanket is my castle this night
clay smear walls
Tears freeze my face to my arm
I crave a wound
to feel hot blood's warming flow
Deer nest in the deep ferns
curling tight and still
but this dawn death coils
around each snow-scrape

Light comes
Skies sicken

Those who live
Awake and rouse
Today snow will blanket the Rose
As we stand Towton Tall