Recent Work / Gwaith diweddar
A Wooden Spoon for the WRU (A druid speaks)
I have consulted the mistletoe, stared at starling footprints in snow: the time is ripe for your overthrow.
I give you a spoon I shaped of ash because you didn't nurture the flash of play but thought, maybe, of cash.
Here's a dip I turned from oak but look, in your hands, it slips into smoke. You've made our last Grand Slam a joke.
Actual rugby can never redeem your backroom moves of dodge and scheme. It's you who need to raise your game.
How can a committee always outlive coaches, players? It’s hard to forgive shadowy men with hands like sieves.
Here's the last spoon, I carved it from gall: it's you, not the team, who have dropped the ball. Hang this up, with shame, in your hall.
Gwyneth Lewis National Poet of Wales