Standing, looking out
over Bangor.
The wind cold
redding my cheeks.
Clouds and coalfire smoke
my breath
all billowing then
streaming. Caught by ice blasts
and disappearing with them.
Hills, like girls breasts of ivory
rounded with points
shelter the village.
Some modest,
shrouded in swirling cloud.
I shiver and envy
placid wool warm sheep
chewing around me.
The tang of home fires
wafts up from the village.
I must return.
Mynydd Llandegai, Wales; December, 1970
