How breath taking your smile is,
daunting, complex, refined, poised.
Under a bombardment you are cool,
relaxed, confident, enchanting.
You speak of the Cymru and Celtic heritage,
and I imagine you as a princess of Caerdydd.
I see Llywelyn in the sparkle in your eyes
and the curve of your face.
Your hair is light as the morning sun,
falling on your shoulders like a million rain drops.
I cannot help but stare and be surprised
by your sturdy gaze and your musical voice.
You carry an artifact with you
and in some ways it defines its beholder.
Grown from its ancestors as you were,
carried with an air of purpose, a wooden spoon.
Though are time was brief,
I could never pretend to imagine,
for one moment forgetting
the Welsh girl with the wooden spoon.
