R. S. Thomas

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The place, Hyddgen;
The time, the fifth
Century since Glyn Dwr
Was here with his men.
He beat the English.
Does it matter now
In the rain? The English
Don't want to come:
Summer country.
The Welsh too:
A barren victory.
Look at those sheep
On such small bones
The best mutton.
But not for him,
The hireling shepherd.
History goes on;
On the rock the lichen
Records it: no mention
Of them, of us.

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