Long ago and far away,
after baths, wrapped in flannel
we knelt bedside, folded hands.
“Now I Lay Me,” “Our Father”
recited by rote without
understanding. Then, being

Welsh, we sang our final prayer
the one our Grandma Lewis 
taught us, “safe in loving arms.”
Our last words each night–nos da–
good night in the mother tongue
our ancestors gave up when
they landed on this free shore.