Self-Isolation. A Goat, Some Poets.A Hermit. And A Trappist Monk. Poem by Shaun Cronick

We are told to self-isolate,
In these troubling times.
But there are Welsh poets who,
Have lived in self-isolation for decades.
Totally ignoring everyone.
Except themselves.
For they would put a Trappist monk to shame.
And even the world's shyest hermit,
Would blush with his mouth ajar.
They dwell well apart from each other in the remote,
Unforgiving, cold caves of Snowdonia National Park.
Forever scribbling their anti social poetry.
They today, like Big Foot, The Loch Ness Monster,
UFO's and packed toilet roll supermarket shelves,
Are never seen.
But sometimes,
If you're very, very lucky on the quietest of Snowdonian nights,
You can hear emanating from the faraway, fairy-tale mountains,
And its many ethereal caves.
A sound caught on a magical breeze,
A faint crackling,
Of them roasting a goat.