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Cymraeg
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1.3.17

 

It rains so often

in our stormy world,

but your spokes always lock

in a hemisphere above my head;

and I can float through our people’s wit,

hanging by one arm beneath your wing.

 

For some, you simply can’t be opened,

but rolling you tight

lends a Welsh spring

to our step;

and we lift you, like a narrow flag,

to guide visitors to our history,

to an alternate reality, that’s open to all…

 

You are that brolly,

that melds our world,

as long  as you’re jointly held,

– whether open or furled…

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