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‘Remember Tryweryn’ – graffiti near Aberystwyth
Soft water from Tryweryn reservoir
was at our fingertips
in Liverpool; no limescale clogged the taps
but imperceptible rogue molecules
ran from the drowned valley, the slate roofs and stone walls
of Capel Celyn, whose fifty souls
were cleared, while those in the Quaker graveyard
were gravelled over. Soft water from Wales
was all we knew, the shadow
of the ‘giver’ faded from the cup,
the singing flow like a foreign tongue
silenced by a twist. Billions of liquid tons
lie on their homes – soft, oblivious sips
which cushioned us from others’ hardships.
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