I´ll dream through
Cymru´s hills & soft green valleys,
Where the bones of
old ancestors lie & long ago tarry,
I shall wander with
wonder & slowly ambling I´ll wend,
Around the nettled-tied
hedgerows & the old Celtic bends,
Where Welsh knots
are tied in Dragon´s breath of red fires,
And on howling cold
winds, the sighing of dead miners expires.
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