You were my shadow in the darkness
of the kneading-trough.
I taught you to speak, to love;
named you for the child I lost,
Gwern, my Gwern.
>> I might lose myself in the hills of Harlech,
>> leave you trapped;
>> I might haunt these woods along the shore
>> and not return.
My finger traced the scales of your foot,
threw me back ten years
to a bark gate and a sheep track
where I played barefoot on rock.
>> You sent me flapping at the wind's whim,
>> a voice above the waves - to taunt
>> forbidden ships - to save you;
>> but the trees tonight are full of spring.
The beat of your wings brought breezes of home;
your eye's liquid, the lake my childhood lost;
under the milky way of your plumage,
my hopes go whirling through the dark.
Tan Morgan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/branwen-and-the-starling/
