Song for Llywelyn App Owain...for Skinty

Celtic air still holds your name
sealed on the lips of a wind
that whistles down the song of years
You took a bride of spite
through lands that whispered
bitch
but she melted the hearts
of the bastard sons
who took up the reins
and the soul of Gwynedd
No such greatness has shouted since
or called the name
Fawr