My heart is large: expanded
enabling it to feel
the magic that is Dylan’s place:
ethereal, unreal.

My eyes are large as lark’s eggs
enabling them to see
the beauty that is all around,
oh blessed creature, me.

My ears are opened wide as gates
enabling them to hear
the call of crow and rooks
and other feathered peers.

My nostrils are dilated
enabling them to smell
some of spring’s rich odours:
narcissi, moist bluebell.

I run my tongue around my lips
enabling it to taste
the mystery of the evening;
morning dew with which to baste.

And joyous in the morning sun,
I delicately trace
the rim of golden daffodil.
All nature I embrace.

Writer Dylan Thomas lived and worked in Laugharne. The shed he wrote in and the Boat House where he lived, on the edge of the estuary, are still there. He is buried in the local cemetery, having died before he was forty years old.