High on Cader Idris’ peak, the lake,
bordered, bearded by reeds
not a ripples passes
across its silver mirrored face
the day is grey, enchanted

Arthur’s seat, a granite throne,
where I sit today, alone,
in quiet, dreaming contemplation
of golden days that may return
to bless the green land far below

”Are you here, are you there?”
my words escaping to air
the reeds sing and sigh in return
as they bow and are still again
as a wisp of a mist roles in