Whenever the sunlit rain
has trawled its trickling meshes
on the dark hills back of the brain,
I keep hearing a Wales
so windswept it refreshes.
.. if song is the first submission,
I was humming inside the phrases
of my childhood's faith as I went
in the wake of the rainlit sun
to the lambs and wet hills of Wales in
the harp-grass of Taliesin.
Derek Walcott
Streams, fragments
The Arkansas Testament
Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1987©
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