Edgar Evans of Rhossili
sunlight flakes the lime walled snow
held fast in a cold gaze ponders
how close to fate we often are
in this stained window depicting yours
away a visitor’s thought transcends
in the dazzling of the west fall sun
held fast a night of wait begins
to wail away the sadfast hours
in down and downward eyes
cries to the sea we pray he made his port
but not on this earth from that icy lot
but on the shore of another’s kindly thought
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