the keys to the kingdom
his words unravel at the welsh costumes
rail at the accustomed sunsets
that weft to their castles and their west flags
for although the mines have congealed
their minds have not
although although
the iron has rusted on the fences of belief
he cried
let in the invaders in
take their gold
for our gold is well hidden
he said
for you see his words are the key
if they would only stop and listen
his words are the key to wales itself
RS Thomas is his name
hair four to the wind’s belted coat
gated and leant upon the seagull wind
glassed red at a candle’s midnight thrall
over the edge of the sea’s threshing
upon yesterday’s truculence
his no tomorrow was gently sown
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