A minute has broken down, having no sense of purpose,
And moves to conjure who the engraved and remembered
May have been in life, how they went about their time,
What the valleys of his palm could communicate
Through the tremors of experience, thunderous against my own,
Eager to know or to assume.

Perhaps, if searched long enough and with a true eye,
Their own tributes and endearments might be glimpsed suddenly
To play out in the crevasses of wood grain,
A mark fixed where their traditions aged,
Holding a view to Ceredigion’s gift, born of water,
Its riding, unseen ships, baring news from Ireland.

With their promises adorned against a home crafted sleeve,
He offering them to her with quiet understanding,
And she clinging to him like the last,
They stand beyond their years at this watch point to proclaim,
‘Love conquers all’,
And I, if only one, carry their faith.