In The Valleys

In The Valleys

In the valleys,
Welsh farmers grow,
seeds in the earth,
in neat little rows.

Sheep on the mountains,
white as the snow,
follow the pathways
only they know.

Horses stand watching
the soft morning rain,
while an old farmer
walks home again.

Hands worn by weather,
boots covered in clay,
working the hillside
day after day.

The green fields are shining,
the rivers run clear,
carrying stories
from year into year.

A small cottage chimney
breathes smoke in the sky,
as birds over Snowdon
silently fly.

The valleys remember
each woman and man,
who cared for the creatures
and worked on the land.

Oh Wales, I love
your deep shades of green,
the farms and the mountains,
the finest I’ve seen.

I’m only a stranger,
my footprints will fade,
but not all the memories
your beauty has made.

Many happy hours,
my heart understands,
though Wales is not mine,
I still love her lands.