Ronald Stuart Thomas
Poems of Ronald Stuart Thomas
|1.||A Blackbird Singing||1/13/2003|
|2.||A Day in Autumn||3/21/2004|
|4.||A Welsh Testament||1/13/2003|
|5.||A Welshman to any Tourist||1/3/2003|
|7.||An Old Man||1/13/2003|
|10.||Death Of A Poet||1/13/2003|
|14.||Night and Morning||1/3/2003|
|16.||On The Farm||1/13/2003|
|18.||Poetry For Supper||1/13/2003|
A Welsh Testament
All right, I was Welsh. Does it matter?
I spoke a tongue that was passed on
To me in the place I happened to be,
A place huddled between grey walls
Of cloud for at least half the year.
My word for heaven was not yours.
The word for hell had a sharp edge
Put on it by the hand of the wind
Honing, honing with a shrill sound