Selected Poems: 1946-1968 (1986), Bloodaxe BooksThere was Dai Puw. He was no good.They put him in the fields to dock swedes,And took the knife from him, when he came homeAt late evening with a grinLike the slash of a knife on his face.There was Llew Puw, and he was no good.Every evening after the ploughingWith the big tractor he would sit in his chair,And stare into the tangled fire garden,Opening his slow lips like a snail.There was Huw Puw, too. What shall I say?I have heard him whistling in the hedgesOn and on, as though winterWould never again leave those fields,And all the trees were deformed.And lastly there was the girl:Beauty under some spell of the beast.Her pale face was the lanternBy which they read in life's dark bookThe shrill sentence: God is love.
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