It’s St David’s Day so, notwithstanding the fact that I’ve just watched Leinster beat Cardiff 42-24 at Rugby,
Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Hapus!
On this day I usually post a poem by a Welsh poet. This, by Dylan Thomas, which was published in 1936 and seems to me to be rather topical, featured in the concert I went to about a month ago.
The hand that signed the paper felled a city;
Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,
Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country;
These five kings did a king to death.
The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder,
The finger joints are cramped with chalk;
A goose's quill has put an end to murder
That put an end to talk.
The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever,
And famine grew, and locusts came;
Great is the hand that holds dominion over
Man by a scribbled name.
The five kings count the dead but do not soften
The crusted wound nor pat the brow;
A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;
Hands have no tears to flow.
In the Dark 