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Captured By Buns 
The
Clydach Gorge, from an old postcard from the collection of Chris
Barber
My
Little Welsh Home
(Words
by W. S. Gwynn Williams.)
I
am dreaming of the mountains of my home,
Of the mountains where in childhood I would roam.
I have dwelt 'neath southern skies
Where the summer never dies,
But my heart is in the mountains of my home.
I
can see the little homestead on the hill,
I can hear the magic music of the rill,
There is nothing to compare
With the love that once was there,
In that lonely little homestead on the hill.
I
can see the quiet churchyard down below,
Where the mountain breezes wander to and fro.
And when God my soul will keep,
It is there I want to sleep,
With those dear old folks that loved me long ago.
Hear
it sung by native son, Bryn Terfel, here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2U6QUrrTXg
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