“In the sweet shire of Cardigan”
Today, we’ll drive in a curve North-east, and later
arc North-west. To our left, much of the morning,
the bay, sea-swathes, twinkling (in sunshine now)
in changing shades of turquoise. Louring later.
The small towns, Cardigan and Aberaeron, Borth.
Here, the farms and a language’s mild consonants
have mingled in time with liberals and shopkeepers,
and the course of business in the streets is quiet.
The prom in Aberystwyth has a cable car one end,
at the other, the Old College buildings, where once
those earnest, frowning nineteenth century boys
(and a few staid girls) were sent by miners’ subs.
For now the village green in Tal-y-bont, and here
two pubs adjoin, the White Lion and the Black Lion.
Suddenly, two swifts are skimming overhead, silent,
shimmering with speed, in a still blue sky.
Robert Nisbet is a Welsh poet whose work has appeared in the USA in San Pedro River Review, Main Street Rag, Third Wednesday, Burningword Literary Journal and many others.