an old writer and his words

  • HARLECH CASTLE

    stones speak in lost tongues to sheep grazing by the wall clouds gather laughing voices of dead kings echo off cloud shrouded hills she whispers in dreams a November wind cuts deeply across the keep distant hills crying slash of claymore glinting in the morning sun bird with wings unfolded moss encrusted stones remember long…

    Lou Faber

  • CASTLE HARLECH

    High on the battlements of Castle Harlech the winter wind cuts through me like scythes slashing the grasses in the meadows that roll out toward the distant, mute hills. The plaintive cry of bowmen whose bones are dust taken deep into the Welsh soil are whispers lost in the wing sweep of the circling starlings.…

    Lou Faber