Fairy Glen
The moss green walls rise high above,
As a poet sits down to dream,
In this place, I was born to love.
Cascading Conwy waters flow,
As a poet sits down to dream,
And old memories come and go.
When first I crossed the Beaver Bridge,
As a child who lived in dreams,
And clambered on the wooded ridge.
I fell in love with this place then,
As a child who lived in dreams,
Still, today it’s my Fairy Glen.
Form: Enclosed Triplets
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