Wild Night at Treweithan
The evening's late November, clouds hump and streak,
the starlings are swept off-course in a black spray,
the gale howls and rattles in my wide chimney,
whistles in a nasty searching hurry.
The ponies can hardly believe it and face it
instead of turning their backsides as they usually do.
Is it drink makes me silly enough to think there's a force
that wants to get rid of something here before day?
The mountain's still black, the great chimneys
aren't rocked, the singing wires hold, we're
still linked to those others, I think of the farmhouse
as a hill-fort of stone with lines out over the moor.
No, there's no power to fear out there in the darkness,
only the idiot unpathed swirl of air belting
over this earth's face as we swing through hidden
stars. I have confidence in my grandfather's building.
The evening's late November, clouds hump and streak,
the starlings are swept off-course in a black spray,
the gale howls and rattles in my wide chimney,
whistles in a nasty searching hurry.
The ponies can hardly believe it and face it
instead of turning their backsides as they usually do.
Is it drink makes me silly enough to think there's a force
that wants to get rid of something here before day?
The mountain's still black, the great chimneys
aren't rocked, the singing wires hold, we're
still linked to those others, I think of the farmhouse
as a hill-fort of stone with lines out over the moor.
No, there's no power to fear out there in the darkness,
only the idiot unpathed swirl of air belting
over this earth's face as we swing through hidden
stars. I have confidence in my grandfather's building.
the starlings are swept off-course in a black spray,
the gale howls and rattles in my wide chimney,
whistles in a nasty searching hurry.
The ponies can hardly believe it and face it
instead of turning their backsides as they usually do.
Is it drink makes me silly enough to think there's a force
that wants to get rid of something here before day?
The mountain's still black, the great chimneys
aren't rocked, the singing wires hold, we're
still linked to those others, I think of the farmhouse
as a hill-fort of stone with lines out over the moor.
No, there's no power to fear out there in the darkness,
only the idiot unpathed swirl of air belting
over this earth's face as we swing through hidden
stars. I have confidence in my grandfather's building.
The evening's late November, clouds hump and streak,
the starlings are swept off-course in a black spray,
the gale howls and rattles in my wide chimney,
whistles in a nasty searching hurry.
The ponies can hardly believe it and face it
instead of turning their backsides as they usually do.
Is it drink makes me silly enough to think there's a force
that wants to get rid of something here before day?
The mountain's still black, the great chimneys
aren't rocked, the singing wires hold, we're
still linked to those others, I think of the farmhouse
as a hill-fort of stone with lines out over the moor.
No, there's no power to fear out there in the darkness,
only the idiot unpathed swirl of air belting
over this earth's face as we swing through hidden
stars. I have confidence in my grandfather's building.
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