Remembering springtime in Wales

When I close my eyes,
I can see those childhood haunts
and an ocean with waves rolling back against
the shore we're standing on.

the sweet dreams I used to have
with the swell of tall grass about my head and body,
all the secret special hillsides that my heart took photos of,
and the scores of music I wrote 

while wildly running through pastureland after sheep....

A bryn noel
has rustled the papers
atop the desk in my mind,
and every favorite poem, prayer and lyric returns -
unforgotten.

If every ache inside I have felt, every spasm of longing
for my homeland,
were to take me back,
I should have been there the second that I left
and dwelt on until eternity
searching only for a love to share it all with.

Thus,
we would be complete,
and I would never again
close my eyes to see.


"Matti" by Martha Lee Phelps