I.
You tell me summer
is not a time for absence
but for presence,

to be HERE in Creiddylad’s garden

with these plants I have sown,
watered, nurtured, grown.

A thousand oxeye daisies
reminding me of Your colourful ox
and the thousand names for You and Creiddylad
forgotten but one day will be sung
again by your awenyddion.

The meadow cranesbill
that reminds me of Your conversation
with Gwyddno Garanhir the wise crane dancer.

The roses that should have been white and red
but white was pink as a bath puff.

The yellow loosestrife my wand.

The foxgloves in which I would build
our monastery if only they lasted all year round.

That I am slowly becoming Sister Patience – I am.

II.
And I dream they put me in hospital
because flowers are growing
between my toes.

I joke about
becoming a flower maiden

but I fear they have taken root
in my flesh, intertwining with my veins,
with my nerves, might be sinking into my soul.

Am I not a beast, another Afagddu, Your dark one?

III.
I laugh about the tales of flower maidens
who become thorns and owls.

I could never desert You,

turn my face towards
the sun god like an oxeye daisy.

The flowers wilt and fall from my feet one by one
as I walk from Thisworld to the Otherworld to Your tomb

as Your apprentice, Your awenydd, as Your nun,
to speak my poetry as You lie
in Annwn’s silence.

*A poem addressed to Gwyn ap Nudd, my patron God, the lover of Creiddylad, who spends winter with Gwyn and summer with His rival Gwythyr.