Llyn Cerrig Bach

Sacred to pagan Môn A Stonehenge.

Mighty small is good served generously

Heave up the Sun against the Down- flow

shed leaf swarms, blow down slow

redshanks ripple-jacked up on river trickle

buried now beneath my feet in uninvited water

The hidden one's easing, She's all kinds of mask

a waking dream submerged and rising green

a mountain lake emerging from shade

surprising dopey flies stirred by radiation

too late to start again, not enough worth by verses

nor the energy of killers, it will wait

drinking now from house to house

far, far from Those hillside caves

Done