RAMS TOSH
A lick and a promise of spring
Torments you with visions
Docking wurzels, buttering parsnips,
Or at least trying to
With Welsh ears always so close to the ground.
One has to mention Wales
And its inevitable culture
The expected roots.
Getting the head well down is one solution
The shortest road out of bald hills
And life on the dungheap -
Stratified cow-pats.
Only vague ravens up a cwm
Prey on your mind
As you slump, straws in your hair,
And taste, fed up to the back teeth,
The flavour of yesterday's shepherd's pie.
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