One last glimpse at that vast expanse, beautiful in all weathers, at low and high tide.

Suspended above the Severn’s swirling depths, I peer down on its waters which represent that wide divide.

Soon the welcome that marks the border to this similar but different land. 

Confronted now with dual language signs to preach a patriotic stand.

Distant high peaks provide a natural barrier to dangers of foreign invasion 

When Britons were attacked by the Romans, this surely was then their one safe haven. 

Past quaint Chepstow on the Wye, the ruined castle still prominent on it banks.

Many years of peace since civil war was here, even a no go zone for Nazi tanks  

In wild secret Forest of Dean, hear the audible snort of the wild boar once more. 

Unfold the map, pronounce the names and plot a course for this exciting tour.

Below Brecon Beacons nestled in The Black Mountains is my ancestral seat

My aunt Joan Mary’s shop next to The Bear Hotel with a menu of fish and meat,

Linked by that bridge over River Usk, my father described his childhood walk, 

Of Llangatock and grandparents’ home Crickhowell, would peace come? was all the talk.

Though dark clouds above peaks Darren and distant Sugar Loaf emerge to form a weather frown,

The flat peak of gentler Table Mountain towering above our high street still smiles down. 

The slow sixties train steamed us past coastal cities to Haverfordwest at the end of the line.

Where we camped as boys near St David’s tall spire, still now so fine.

My grandma’s birthday shares with this smallest city celebrations on each first March day

With nearby treasures to visit such as Ramsey Island and Whitesands Bay.

From Swallow Falls at Betws-y-Coed, the park of Snowdonia was explored.

Where through binoculars we peered for glimpses of birds of prey, so high they soared.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    In hilly locations near Pontarddulais and in bright lit studios at Cardiff and in Mold

Melodies from choirs and singers with stories in Welsh from newsreaders would unfold.

Before celebrations in Lewis Carroll’s Gogarth, that knot in Conwy was tied.

We’d pick wild mushrooms on Llandudno’s Great Orme, for breakfast they were fried.                                                 

My son born at St. Asaph is ever so proud of his roots in this principality

He spent his nomadic childhood on the move, follow the work, unfortunately  a practicality.                                                                                                                                          

Separated from them, I drove four hundred miles return, past the Cambrian range to see my sons.

Many hours alone at the wheel but the joy of seeing them was served in tons. 

Past Wrexham, Oswestry, Welshpool and Newtown where the Little Chef offered a break.

Should I continue through Llandridod Wells to Builth Wells or divert to Rhayader, a choice of route to take?

Feeling alone in the world, I followed the empty road accompanied by that river, fast and gushing.

No time ever to share their world, duty calls, back to base, always rushing.

But pause a while, stay to explore their teenage home in sunlit Tenby.

Is this because of my family links that I find the people here so friendly?

My grandma’s story of taking a donkey, six miles to Abergavenny, there were so many tales.

This is my ancestral home, the Land of my Fathers, my beloved Wales.