we bring your language, and we bring the fire

of your hearth to the quietness

of this place, where there is all the dust

of your story, where your name

bursts out in a loud cry across their land,

where you, Gwenllian, were

silent - we come back to the place.

The rag doll of our wounded race.

You are our gentlest hero,

our helpless baby, our captive mother,

young in your antiquity,

and to you, Gwenllian,

we come from your land, blameless girl,

come again to the flat lands

today to the place of your long suffering.

Because there is pain in the blossoming of the

spring, because there is lamentation in memory,

this is why the mother who never was

and her seed still bleed,

and the sister who was a prisoner

is still on the unbroken journey

to the place where her voice breaks out

and her breath in our echo.

Within us is Gwenllian,

she is the poem and the notes of the song,

and she will still be commemorated.

Here today,

there is need of forgiveness.