Tracery in the early morning light
A network of breaking buds
A song thrush pierces the air
Soft green leaves cascade from the beech buds.
The blackbird sits motionless in its nest
Humanity wakes and thunders in the distance.
These hills could be Judean hills
This garden the garden tomb
The light around the sculpted woman
An angel appearing to Mary.
But this is Ystalyfera
The voices of a garden speak louder than words.