She loved her special prince
Her soul belonged to Maelon
But her father would not allow it so
For she had been promised to wed another

She prayed to her God to forget her true love
And an Angel came down to visit her
Granting a sweet potion to erase his memory
So that she could forget him forever

But it also meant that Maelon would be trapped
To be encased within a block of ice
Then her God decided to grant Dwynwen three wishes
And she knew for what she had to do

She wished for Maelon to be thawed and saved
She wished for the hopes and the dreams
Be granted for all of the true lovers
But the third wish, she would never marry

She formed her convent on Llandwyn
This is where she stayed, until Death took her
The remains of her church can still be seen
She will always be our patron saint of lovers




5th Century saint ... copyright Chris Smith 2010

Tell me one thing; why?
Why did you take him from me?
Why didn't you let
Me say goodbye?

I've sat up crying all day,
Trying to put the pieces
Back together.
I still can't think straight,

I still can't remember
My purpose.
Why did you take him
From me forever?

I know he's not
Suffering anymore,
And he has no more pain,
But I wasn't ready to let him go.

I wasn't ready to drown
In my own tears.
I just want one last hello.
I want to see his smile

One last time,
Before I get carried away.
I want to hear his laugh,
Feel his hugs,

Tell him everything I
Have to say.
I want my Grandpa back.
Why did you take him from me?

My mind is only slowly
Working on half track.
I am at a loss for words,
And it feels like he's

Still here with me.
I can't believe he's gone.
I love you Grandpa,
You will be missed.

Your suffering soul is free.

Robert Leonard Smith
December 29, 1934-January 21, 2011
Gone, but never forgotten.
I love and miss you Grandpa.<33

Oh, I have sown my love so wide
That he will find it everywhere;
It will awake him in the night,
It will enfold him in the air.

I set my shadow in his sight
And I have winged it with desire,
That it may be a cloud by day,
And in the night a shaft of fire.

When I am dead and over me bright April
Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,
Though you shall lean above me broken-hearted,
I shall not care.

I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful
When rain bends down the bough;
And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted
Than you are now.

Less than the cloud to the wind,
Less than the foam to the sea,
Less than the rose to the storm
   Am I to thee.

More than the star to the night,
More than the rain to the lea,
More than heaven to earth
   Art thou to me.

I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,
The fragile secret of a flower,
Music, the making of a poem
That gave me heaven for an hour;

First stars above a snowy hill,
Voices of people kindly and wise,
And the great look of love, long hidden,
Found at last in meeting eyes.

I have loved much and been loved deeply —
Oh when my spirit’s fire burns low,
Leave me the darkness and the stillness,
I shall be tired and glad to go.

My heart is heavy with many a song
Like ripe fruit bearing down the tree,
But I can never give you one —
My songs do not belong to me.

Yet in the evening, in the dusk
When moths go to and fro,
In the gray hour if the fruit has fallen,
Take it, no one will know.

Day, you have bruised and beaten me,
As rain beats down the bright, proud sea,
Beaten my body, bruised my soul,
Left me nothing lovely or whole —
Yet I have wrested a gift from you,
Day that dies in dusky blue:

For suddenly over the factories
I saw a moon in the cloudy seas —
A wisp of beauty all alone
In a world as hard and gray as stone —
Oh who could be bitter and want to die
When a maiden moon wakes up in the sky?

They laid their hands upon my head,
They stroked my cheek and brow;
And time could heal a hurt, they said,
And time could dim a vow.

And they were pitiful and mild
Who whispered to me then,
"The heart that breaks in April, child,
Will mend in May again."

Oh, many a mended heart they knew.
So old they were, and wise.
And little did they have to do
To come to me with lies!

Who flings me silly talk of May
Shall meet a bitter soul;
For June was nearly spent away
Before my heart was whole.