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

To Swansea and mum

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.

Calon Lân

teanga álainn 
san aer.

ar gach taobh:

daoine áille 
agus
tír gálanta.

éistim, 
mo shúile druidte -

tarraingím anáil dhomhain:

síochain