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Myrddin Wyllt (The Battle of Arfderydd) Like a wolf pack biting into bone, bloody-chapped we bit the bitter core of that battle and gulped Its poison; Gwenddolau sighed his last breath as Rhydderch’s cross was hoisted high over the earth. I stole away by ditch and fosse. Where could I hide but the wild wood from Rhydderch’s men? That tree with apples on its boughs guards the glade the christians cannot see. Sour apples falling to earth forsaking ripeness fester slowly into another year a freight of sadness. The cycle broken: the circle shrunk to this one glade in the wildwood; defeat dogged us but I made A spell here and grew hair like a wild thing in the wild wood which I wander like a wolf under leaf shade ashamed but undefiled