PAT LLANALIAN

PAT LLANALIAN.

When we visited you

I remember a

conversation in 

the car with my

Mother and Father.

I said this side of

the island seemed like

the end of the world 

we laughed at the irony 

about living in New Zealand.

In the bungalow 

You handed me 

a pair of powerful binoculars   you said if I followed the telegraph wires

as a guide to the end 

 I could see Brian working

on the Chapel roof and

Holyhead mountain

rising up into the icy sky.

The fields divided up by

grey stone walls and

driving along the narrow road a green double decker bus

as if mustering the sheep.

This morning 

my Mother called to say

that you had been

found dead in bed.

My Mother

always a stickler 

for morbid detail.

Your Welsh was kind and beautiful.

Avie.