I hammer down the iron blue And feel the stone in hills I threw A giant's tome in slate is wrought The dragon's breath is surely sought
And with the flame and grey hill soul I toil to make my body whole To giants time may not take lives But our body falls in loose demise
I build myself an arm of slate A slated cage will separate My slate heart and my slate lungs My life will lead from where begun.
These hills are home to more than me Bees and deer and wolves at times I look down at my forgèd limbs And see the grass has grown there too.
I roam the fields, but find my feet Are reluctant to leave the soil they meet I sink to my knees and find that I Am now the hill beneath the sky.
Millenia pass, my sleep is long Until some years when something's wrong Strange beasts have come with clever paws To take my slate for homes and wars.
I slumber still, giants are slow to rise But count my word true, and count it wise 'Fore long I'll rise and take it back And your slate beast world will fade to black.
An environmentalist poem taken from Welsh myths. I didn't even mean for it to be environmentalist, but there you go.