the mountains would stop talking to each other,
the hills would lose their nerve and flee, 
the rivers would stop rushing down,
turn their tides to the source,
vanish back to Annwn,

and the sea, oh the vast sea!
The mournful waves would lose their songs,
the sea-horses their nostrils of foam and proud crests.
Water would be water no longer and salt would not be salt.
There would be nothing to quench our thirst or cleanse our wounds.

With the marching trees we would be rootless vagabonds
for the snakes beneath our houses and the serpents
beneath our towerblocks would shake
the foundations tear them down.

The animals would run away
through the caves and cracks in the earth
and all the fish would disappear into the Lune Deep
and the birds would fly away on the winds before the sky
did his thing of crashing down like a fallen bird or a fallen wrestler.

If Your heart ceased to beat oh Gatherer of Souls,
would our hearts too not cease to beat?
Then who would gather us?

Oh lonely lonely souls! 

Grateful are we that on the moment
of Your death Your heart skips but one beat
then continues to beat in Your sleep and in Your dreams.

*A poem for Gwyn ap Nudd on Calan Mai when He loses His battle for Creiddylad to Gwythyr and ‘dies’ and retreats to Annwn to sleep for the summer.