It’s St David’s Day, and as I hail from Carmarthen, a little town in South West Wales, I feel it’s my duty to inject some Welshness into my blog post this week. For anyone who doesn’t know, St David’s Day (or Dydd Gwyl Dewi, as the Welsh would say) celebrates the life of Saint David, patron saint of Wales, who according to legend died on 1st March. My most memorable St David’s Days took place in a Welsh primary school, where 1st March meant going to school dressed in a very silly traditional Welsh costume (it included a bonnet – I’m not kidding), wearing leeks and daffodils, and taking part in some Welsh folk dancing. Today though, I think I will just enjoy some poetry from one of our Welsh greats:

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

Dylan Thomas

Sara Magness, Editorial Administrator