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We drive through the dark
to her home,
radio lulling small back seat bodies,
so late that our DJs have hushed
and only the rustling burr
of an AM station remains,
in and out like consciousness
with songs of eternal love,
bread of heaven
ar hyd y nos
I’d not ask a life that’s easy,
Gold and pearls so little mean,
Rather seek a heart that’s joyful,
Heart that’s honest, heart that’s clean.
So many Welsh songs, poems, are not translated for the world to enjoy:(
fiachra breac May 2019
teanga álainn
san aer.

ar gach taobh:

daoine áille
agus
tír gálanta.

éistim,
mo shúile druidte -

tarraingím anáil dhomhain:

síochain
diolch, agues go raibh maith agaibh a Bhreatain Bheag

— The End —