An Ode to Cardiff on an Exit

A Final Ode to Cardiff

3 years:

Of grey streets and uneven pavements and bins pecked apart by gulls.

Of red lanyards and a yellow water bottle carried from JP to Sir Martin Evans to Main. 

Of bags brimming with books and a mind bursting with titles, themes, tropes. 

Of walking down streets lined with welsh words and english words and laughter. 

Of nights dripped in orange VKs and days soaked in rain.

Of snowy mornings in Bute and sunny afternoons in Roath.

Of Senghennydd and Rhymney and Florentia. 

Of late nights watching movies on laptops perched on chairs.

 

Of crying with laughter, screaming at the tops of lungs, singing till throats hurt. 

Of reading and writing and rewriting and editing. 

Of learning so much more than just the page in front of me.

diolch caerdydd, hwyl fawr

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