Slates

 It seems an age since last we walked Llangollen vale
Its winding Dee and arrow-straight canal,
mountains either side, purple in the evening sun
slides of slate on the quarry slopes
world-wide, slates by train and ship,
made from sweat and piece-work toil.
Silent now the hills jealous of their secrets;
grand- parents play with children by the sea at Rhyl
Once they came by rail, Rhuabon via Chester;
steam and smoke and white milk chocolate,
leather straps to shut the windows.....
quick ! before the bridge and tunnel !
Now they cram into the car, daughter at the wheel;
dad back home, walking off to work.