Broth of the Gods (Tales of Wales)

Broth of the gods, Ceridigion's sweet cawl,
Brewed by the devil or should I say Diawl;
Sup up a measure but do take great care,
For it can blacken your teeth and whiten the hair.


At Ynysddu farm they speak of old Ned,
Who drilled a deep shaft behind his cowshed,
"I've struck liquid gold" said he with a cry,
When a gusher of cawl nearly blinded one eye.


People who came from the hills and the vales,
Sang loud "Long live our cawl and right up with
Wales”,
Soon Ned built steel tanks in Phil Flashers field,
"I'm to be rich” he cried, “I'll soon be well
heeled”.


Then Texaco, Mobile and the mighty BP
Pumped the sweet broth by pipes to the sea,
There in hot holds of the steaming Welsh fleet,
It's carried to nations who cannot compete.


Now Ned' s old farm is a spa of some note,
Where rich Celtic gentry eat, drink and float,
And the fair land of Cymru sits in a dark pall
Of cawl' s pungent vapours, not pleasing to all.