All Lit Up - Poems

From Language Difficulty Ann Drysdale

Once I worked late into the night, searching
For words that would stand up and take the weight
Of the great sadness that comes to me sometimes,
Into the hole left by the sort of joy
We used to know in childhood - `Mark my words -
You carry on like that and there’ll be tears
Before bedtime.’ The hurt of missing something
You never knew you had till it was gone.
Sadness for sadness’ sake. Tears on a taut face
Still stretched from too much laughter. Welsh has it;
Simple as stocking-stich, easy as breathing -
Listen: inhale - hwyl; exhale - hiraeth.