We've nothing vast to offer you, no deserts <br />Except the waste of thought <br />Forming from mind erosion; <br />No canyons where the pterodactyl's wing <br />Falls like a shadow. <br />the hills are fine, of course, <br />Bearded with water to suggest age <br />And pocked with cavarns, <br />One being Arthur's dormitory; <br />He and his knights are the bright ore <br />That seams our history, <br />But shame has kept them late in bed.<br /><br />Ronald Stuart Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-welshman-to-any-tourist/
