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Dwyfor River Song
The song the Dwyfor boulders sing
is a drumbeat hum, long and low,
press your ear to the rock, you’ll know.
But Baba, you’ll wait till you grow old
for the boulder story to unfold,
for the lullaby they sing.
The song the Dwyfor sunlight sings
is the unlocked yellow note of fire,
seeds sky-holes as the leaves reach higher.
But Baba, you’ll wait till you grow old
for the sunlight story to turn to gold
the rings of birches either side,
to lean-link arms, bridge the river wide,
for the lullaby they sing.
The song the Dwyfor breezes sing
is secret breathing, spin of words,
featherly speak of lifted birds.
But Baba, you’ll wait till you grow old
for the breeze’s story to cloak the cold,
for the stickleback to swim the sun,
for the ash to beat the boulder’s drum,
for the sun to learn how else to spin
the old way it spins the seasons in,
for the lullaby they sing.
I babble the water-wanton’s wish;
you can tell it, tell it, if you kiss
your baba-lips to the water’s skin,
trace with your fingers the sun within.
The boulders, breezes, rivers hold,
hold them, Baba, as you grow old.
Born of Dwr, the river’s daughter,
Baba, you are water, water.
Standing, breathing, spinning, flowing,
grow with the Dwyfor, growing, growing,
for the lullaby I sing,
for the lullaby I sing.
© professoryackle (Sara Pitt) All Rights Reserved
is a drumbeat hum, long and low,
press your ear to the rock, you’ll know.
But Baba, you’ll wait till you grow old
for the boulder story to unfold,
for the lullaby they sing.
The song the Dwyfor sunlight sings
is the unlocked yellow note of fire,
seeds sky-holes as the leaves reach higher.
But Baba, you’ll wait till you grow old
for the sunlight story to turn to gold
the rings of birches either side,
to lean-link arms, bridge the river wide,
for the lullaby they sing.
The song the Dwyfor breezes sing
is secret breathing, spin of words,
featherly speak of lifted birds.
But Baba, you’ll wait till you grow old
for the breeze’s story to cloak the cold,
for the stickleback to swim the sun,
for the ash to beat the boulder’s drum,
for the sun to learn how else to spin
the old way it spins the seasons in,
for the lullaby they sing.
I babble the water-wanton’s wish;
you can tell it, tell it, if you kiss
your baba-lips to the water’s skin,
trace with your fingers the sun within.
The boulders, breezes, rivers hold,
hold them, Baba, as you grow old.
Born of Dwr, the river’s daughter,
Baba, you are water, water.
Standing, breathing, spinning, flowing,
grow with the Dwyfor, growing, growing,
for the lullaby I sing,
for the lullaby I sing.
© professoryackle (Sara Pitt) All Rights Reserved
Published 13th Apr 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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14th Apr 2015 8:10am
14th Apr 2015 1:04pm
Thank you. A friend and I actually got into the Dwr to try to feel what it was like to "be" the river on that particular day. The Dwr runs right past the National Writers' Centre in Wales.
14th Apr 2015 6:52pm
14th Apr 2015 8:40pm
Thanks. It does have a tune and chords though; I used to sing it to my baba... many, many years ago...
Wow! I so very much thoroughly loved, enjoyed & kindredly resonated with this deliciously masterful, intriguingly mysterious & wonderfully beautiful poem of yours!!! But then again, in reading each of your posted & published DUP poems here, one after the other, on this lazy, early December, beautifully tranquil, Southern California, sunny desert day, I'm finding many other, consistently similar echos of your uniquely individual, creative muse's voice throughout them all, expressed in your own deeply poetic, multi-dimensionally perceived & penned, so interestingly released to share here with all, your & their flowing, tumbling, currents, cascading, tongue-spun songs & dream-like, inner visions, so dynamically expressive in the thought provoking imagery & mystifyingly vicarious, clever word-play journeys they so curiously & so refreshingly, reflectively spin & take us all on, in your wondrous languaging & through these lucid, phantasmagoric, inner worlds & realms, your own, but through & into which you so kindly, welcome us all to freely enter to either pass through just as quickly as some readers may want, or for others like myself, to more slowly stroll through & take our time to linger, ponder & savor more deeply whatever in your posted poems, may resonantly call or speak to us, as we journey through these vicarious, snapshot, privileged, little glimpses into your intriguingly compelling & most welcome, professoryackle inner worlds! 👍🏻
