Carn Llidi one of the great gorsedd outcrop, three cromlechs on this headland....
The Ancient Briton Lay Under His Rock
Under the oaks, the polished leaves of Sunday.
He was happy no longer existing
Happy being nursery school history
A few vague words
A stump of of local folklore.
A whorl in our ignorance.
That valley needed him, dead in his cave-mouth,
Bedded on bones of cave-bear, sabre tooth.
We needed him. The mighty hunter.
We dug for him. We dug to be sure.
Stinging brows, Sunday after Sunday.
We need that waft from the cave
The dawn dew-chilling of emergence,
The hunting ground untouched all around us.
Meanwhile his pig-headed rock existed.
A slab of time, it surely did exist.
Loyal to the day, it did not cease to exist.
As we dug it waddled and squirmed deeper,
As we dug, slowly a good half ton,
It escaped us, taking its treasure down.
And lay beyond us, looking up at us
Part of the cliff face walking from Solva, deeply folded rock, born out of fire and water, LS picked up some small, megalithic type stones from the beach to bring home that has the same brown and grey colour, a stone that is used in the building of cottages with such good effect.
Sometimes I question why a particular idea strikes me, gorsedds in this instance was it when I was looking over Pentre Ifan's stones and suddenly realised that there were three stone outcrops above it; its capstone is said sometimes to resemble Carn Ingli (which is the above photo) and my long view with the long barrow underneath the ridge has a vague resemblance....