I have not seen the mists rise on Cadair Idris –
but travelled the road that climbs from Dolwyddelan
to fall into the vast desolation of Blaenau Ffestiniog;
found rest in the silent graveyard of Merthyr Isiw
above the valley of the Grwyne Fawr; and marvelled
at the perfection of crooked places in Cwmyoy.
I have sat at the old quarry of Mynydd Llangatwg
to gaze at the chequered world and let the whisper,
the murmur, the susurration of shifting vowels
and age-old consonants bewitch me. Crug Hywel,
Aberdyfi, Machynlledd, Ceredigion, Ynys Môn –
until in my mind the mists rose on Cadair Idris.
whypoetry 
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