I have no Welsh blood

in me whatsoever,

so I will not cling to a team out of genetics

to make myself smile at their success;

even though I would love it dearly if they

against the odds

lifted a trophy that England

may have thought was theirs by some

divine football right.

However…

I did once date a wonderful girl

from Hunstanton who now

resides in Wales with a very loving wife,

I can

on a very clear day see beyond the shores

of the Wirral and imagine the crazy golf

course in Prestatyn and the downward slope

in which the welcome full breakfast is a must,

I have visited Swansea, Cardiff and Wrexham

to watch the beautiful game and I adore

the mastery of

Dylan Thomas,

the subtle tones of Richard Burton

and feel the stirrings

of a crush

when Catherine Zeta Jones comes into my head

as she stars in Chicago, stockings and bobbed hair.

I have taken a canoe out on Bala Lakes

and drank a pint in the pub on the shore.

whilst the wind whistled down

from the tops of mountains.

My sons’ maternal grandfather was a Welsh born man

but I never met him, neither have I met

Christian Bale but I sure would like to thank him

for bringing Batman into the modern age

and I sure would love to have a kiss

on the cheek from the Liver Bird

Nerys Hughes.

I think fondly of Bala,

I remember wanting to run away to Anglesey

as a child and respecting John Toshack

as a powerhouse of British football;

however I have no Welsh inside me, despite

ancient and dusty maps once declaring

Cornwall as South Wales, I cannot claim

to have the proud Dragon’s roar in my heart.

So forgive me if I have not cheered you on thus far,

if I have cheered on Italy since England fell

far short again, and now I will,

for anarchy’s sake, cheer on Iceland,

though rest easy I do want you to take

Portugal apart and should the day

of destiny call, should the Dragon stir

over Albion and Europe once more

and face the Germans, know full well

I am, for a night in spirit,

as Welsh as the Daffodil.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016