Th’range running – wracked by rocks in ragged peaks –
‘long valley’s faulted floor of glacial folds
doth rise to highland ‘n summit ne’er told
elsewhere thr’out Cymru’s verdant, Celtic reach.
Amidst the eerie cloud’s the mountain’s height,
ringed by a raptorial spectre – splayed
in soaring, shim’ring, past-‘n-future flight
are wings with red embossed; with green inlaid.
Flame-flick’ring fire of th’ancient dragon’s tongue
callcries – Cymraeg! – o’er where the riverrun
writes sediment’ry; where the hawkweed’s grown
‘mongst gathered gorse; where th’alpine lily’s blown
by th’mountain wind; where eagles once had flown,
their golden span acrest the slopes of home.
Image credit – Pinterest
william altoft 