Like Wordsworth in Wales
Who doesn’t like ruins? The old
stone shaped to make the landscape wild.
The fragmented walls, like thoughts, frame
the sky with Gothic windowpanes.
Now, blue is the preferred hue for
reflection that is wide enough.
Ivy climbs the parts of castles,
abbeys, crofter’s tumble-down huts
that jut from hillsides, ridgelines, and
hollowed out vales. Driving through Wales
is like diving into a deep
well of water from which we sip,
full of bitterness and regret
too tart and tangy to forget.