Llwy Caru
(Love Spoon)

My ancestors spent nights  
carving oak, steady hands
shaped promises
              to an uncertain future.
Sailorís hands,
    hardened by callouses,
found strength to create.
Used knives to find beauty,  
       used beauty to build a culture.
A twisted stem that vowed his life
to her, survives the flowers we offer
today. A daffodil sculpted from oak
signals a growing nation. The daffodil
   on my windowsill  
         still in bud.

Bethan Manley


If you have any thoughts on this poem, Bethan Manley would be pleased to hear them.