Set deep upon the Preseli Hills

Shabby now three hundred years old

Surrounded by sparkling trills of brooks,

set free from mountain hold

The old stone yard with delicate blossoms adorned

Fuchsia softly drapes the walls of galt and slate

Ghosts of people passed are mourned

we ponder and await our fate

Arfron now it says upon the gate

Butterflies of summer feast on nectar sweet

with murmurings innumerable

And constant journeys here and there

with destinations deep and imponderable.

This is a poem about "Arfron" the sweet Welsh cottage in the Pembrokeshire National Park that I share with my brother. It is rugged and solid, all embracing and assailed by salt air from the sea beyond. It is a place of peace and inspiration. It's original name was "Fron Ganol", ( Middle Bank). The Fron is a tiny hamlet in the National Park.

This summer the garden was filled with butterflies visiting the wild lilac tree, It is built of the healing blue stones used thousands of years ago to build Stonehenge. Originally a shepherds cottage, it was given a second story in the 1930's with a beautiful view of the coast and the sea beyond.