Y Fedel Wenith


The fingers lightly lift thee up

From wicker warm

And cast thee gently forth

To have thy dark dream-time disturbed

As cold moist earth becomes

Thy sleeping bed.


Anon thy slumber light

That seemed to endure

For near eternity,

Mutates to simple reverie

When lavèd frequent by

The gentle fingertips

Of Llyr Llediaeth.


Soon thou’rt full awake

And bathing in the warmth

Of Heulwen’s purest light.

Her kiss upon thy brow,

As thy young head doth rise,

Lures thee to emerge

In brightest green caparisoned.

When seven moons have passed

And thou hast grown

In stature strong,

In height e’en like

A fair young lad

But armed with spears enow

And crown that doth reveal

The Royal House and line

Of thy blest Mother chaste,

Thy sacrifice comes sure

For health and strength
Of all mankind
  Within the Realm.

The lance sped swift

From Bryn Kyfergyr,
Reaping well
Thy maturity and life
While aloft winged raiment
As on eagle's pens,
Thine ample body
To expose.

Anon thy twin,
Y Goron Wy
In name,

To sim'lar fate submits
  And on the quern stone
Swiftly turns to dust.

But Gwydyon's wiles

Have saved thy form,

Preserved thy very soul
To verify the round
  That lingers well
In perpetuity.
And so the life and tale
Of Lleu Llaw Gyffes

Will unfold
To those who venerate
The argot long forgot.


'argot' pronounced 'ar - go'.

copyright © Gareth Pengwerin
December 2015

all rights reserved