How young are you?
Younger than the shales,
Carried by Atlantic rage that made you?

Hiding under that village, why do you hide?
Do the lives lived above you protect you?
I see your blanket is small,
Those that are the same as those that protect you.
Have shrunk your special blanket.

How young are you,
You seem just a child to me.

Your scared aren't you.


Note: Written about the spit across the front of Borth Bog in mid Wales, the poem is better understood and hopefully leads people on to read more on the bog and how important it is to the nature of the UK.