Kensa seythen MiSkriBa yw gorfennys ha prompt hedhyw o: skrifa bardhonek henwys "Hwans y fies omma" usi awenys gen karten bost. Ny dhevnydhis karten bost hengovek, mes skeusen goth a Dhresden a-dhyworth 1910 (a hevel karten post). Ow bardhonek a gomprehend tri "harten bost" bian a lever a-dro dhe hav yn Dresden kyns an breselyow, gen displegyans diwysyansek ha termyn a dheu usi apert dhyn oll y'n jydh hedhyw. My a wayt y vos y'n keth gis avel Goodbye to Berlin gen Christopher Isherwood... Pypynag, y stoppyav flowsya lemmyn. The first week of NaPoWriMo is up and today's prompt was: write a poem titled “Wish You Were Here” that takes its inspiration from the idea of a postcard. I didn't pick a traditional postcard rather an old photograph of Dresden rom 1910 (which looks like a postcard). My poem consists of three small "postcards" telling about summer in Dresden before the wars, with industrial development and a future which we all know about these days. I hope it's similar to Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood... Anyway, I'll stop babbling on now.
Yth omglowav rayys an howl ow leski warnav
Hag awel skav chanj ow kana'n gwinbren hweg.
An fros difeyth a wohel lett res an gwav
Hag yn y is y rosyav yn tison an glannow teg.
A-rag y hwelav helyow sevus a dowl skeusow
Delkyow gossen yn mog androw hag y klowav,
Y klowav flows war an stret, klappya'n tonnow
Yn ol skath ethen a solempen bewnans brav.
Sul an west a dhewwynk messach golowji
A lever dhymmo vy bos an gwari war benn.
Heb si po hanas y talleth gwestoryon diveri
Nektars frothus dhe dhowrow ancertan.
Wish you were here: Summer on the Elbe, 1910
I feel the sun’s rays burning on my skin
And change’s gentle breeze singing the sweet vines.
The desert flow avoids winter’s weir
And in its style I quietly roam these fair banks.
Before me I see rising halls that cast the shadows
Of rusted leaves in the afternoon haze and I hear,
I hear the gossip on the street, the chatter of waves
In a steam ship’s wake as it celebrates life.
The western sun blinks a lighthouse message
Which tells me that the game is over.
Without a hum nor murmur the guests begin to pour
Fertile nectars into uncertain waters.
Hemm a baynt imach pur weladow.
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