The
Riddle
I see
not the butterfly nor yet the bee,
Yet
sister and brother see I through the tree.
I fear
not the tines that keep guard by the door;
They
open two yet they rule over four.
About
me the cauldron of sides round and strong,
With
murmering lullaby tender and long.
Therein
are the twinborn of silver and gold;
Ere
I lie down to sleep they my strength will uphold.
Copyright © Gareth
Pengwerin 1966
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