Ramparts thrown together
against the invading wind;
Some Welsh bridesmaid fled the shearwater night
From Celtic hand stone-rough,
Tossing her bouquet -
Angelica, sea-pink, black knapweed,
Honeysuckle, scarlet pimpernel and thrift -
Into the high hedge
That shelters the birds from the sea.
The small pearl-bordered fritillary
Flirts the hedge top
Playing hide and seek with
Grayling and common blue;
A peregrine falcon eyes
The occasional car winding towards the cliff top,
Oblivious of the harvest mouse
Dancing in the cowslips and marram grass,
Celebrating his nuptial night
With a pyramidal orchid -
A simple gift for the bride.
If I were to die right here
This would be paradise -
Bury me here among the campion and vetch;
Make another Coetan Arthur,
Not in stone saluting the Bishops and Clerks
Sleeping out there,
Entombed in the Celtic waves.
No, make a shroud from squill,
Cover my head with a garland
Of red campion;
Arrange a perennial guard of choughs
To scare away the hikers;
Make me to look out
On a ring of porpoises saluting the rising sky,
Gannets to dive each hour in homage
To a man who walked
A winding lane
In Pembrokeshire - alone.
By Martin Eggleton
BBC radio interview with the editors at link.
Photo: White Squill found here.
Botanical info on White Squill found here.