Twrch Trwyth (Fierce Boar)
Why are you here
Faux soapstone prince?
The crows mock you now
As you stand rampant,
Motionless.
Guarding a castle
With no keep
Where everyman your foe
Steeps exotic beans in china
While speaking in tongues.
Why am I here?
Come from that place
Where cross and inn
Slowed the progress
Of friendship.
To tell you that I have stood
At the edge of the field
Where without arrows
Pembroke fell and the trees
Whisper –
YOUR KINSMEN ARE ALL DEAD.
It’s true, we carve the names
Of fallen soldiers in stone
But here all search with glee
Through your bristles
For scissors, comb and razor.
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