If Welsh was but an afterthought
we might bid bore da
to passers by who, with a smile,
embrace their local jar.
The shops, the stalls, the painted walls
might even case our words.
And signs and lines across the land
sing beauty with the birds.
‘Would you mind?’ a boss might ask,
‘How’s welcome said round here?’
Then up aside the English door
a croeso greets those dear.
Adresses posted hosting names
of lanes and streets and roads
in language once heard freely there
when builders first forged those.
Strolling by some dual-code signs
one merely reads the top.
Then after passing realise
their eyes could reap both crop.
Convention venting social norms
to follow foreign crown.
But names of babies, pets and homes
might now yield fresh renown.
With parents’ backing, lessons learned
in classes ‘cross these lands.
The words and tales of Wales afar;
might shake more western hands.
Social bios – boring now –
might not host mono-speech;
An odd addition of old words
makes broad a narrow reach.
The radios might play some songs
with words some might not know.
And anchors drop the odd nos da
on every evening show.
No longer lingers shirking lark
admitting they speak none.
But pride might find its way to say
some words their mates thought gone.
‘I might say diolch next time
when I buy my morning snack.’
New old words in queuers ears;
shopkeepers smiling back.
If even just an afterthought
we might just check our minds
for chances lost but futures gained
to make a place for finds.