St. David's Day Poem
WORDS: Tom Bevan (Editorial Group)
Welcome to Wales, the wide sign read,
"Well thank you very much," the lorry driver said.
He sighed at the price, he was rather thrifty,
The toll had gone up to ten pound fifty.
Grumbling at the man, he opened his wallet to pay,
"Cheers mate," he muttered and soon was on his way.
He came to a halt, it had happened before,
There was another tailback on the M4.
He gazed at the sheep, they were nibbling on the grass,
The rain fell on his windscreen, but the shower would pass.
The queue soon dispersed, so on the traffic went,
And before he knew it, he’d arrived in Newport, Gwent.
He avoided the capital, he was headed for the coast,
In Cardiff there was rugby, the game he loved the most.
After a little while, the grey sky turned to blue,
And a grass-covered mountain came into view.
He took out his map and checked the plan,
The large hill on his left was Pen y Fan.
He left the Brecon Beacons, but at a snail's pace,
"The roads round here are a right disgrace".
His aim was to get there by the end of the day,
The destination? Cardigan Bay.
He stopped in Carmarthen, to buy some grub,
But the only place open was the local pub.
The bar was packed, but he was offered a chair,
The game was on the telly, the whole town was there.
He soon forgot the journey and had a pint or two,
Wales got the first try and the atmosphere grew.
As the rugby flowed, so did the beer,
The barman gave him a plastic daff, as a souvenir.
The next morning he woke, in a tacky B&B,
"Forget England," he said, "Wales is the place for me".
