As I survey my estate
And my blood’s come
To nought
In this parchment dry body
And as I consider my kin’s line
Scrolling back unbroken
To Brochwel Ysgythrog
Prince of Powys
And down the lane
As I plan my last journey
To be laid, as I directed you, north
Of Cynon’s church
Here are three of the tokens
I beg you to lay on my plain
Hearse, lacking the usual
Fantastical decorations:
First, an oak panel, the sign of
Bleddyn the wolf man.
An arrow pierced his tongue, ended
Centuries of knifefights and fear.
Next, a yellow iris from the lily lake.
She will teach me to be
Patient as I begin my new
Century of sleep.
Last, a seed from the baby pine
That will stand, an age from today,
And greet the traveller
To my tall house of learning,
To the silence I have planted
In this green cwm.

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