An island in this country's great city.
The Welsh Centre.
An Elizabethan ramble for a Celtic scramble.
A dank bastion.
Ticking and creaking like taped and made-do 1940's wiring.
Hall walls bedecked in the country next door's flags.
Sanctuary to a pale-skinned, red-headed, bird-like, pearl-bedecked lady.
And a belly barreled, whiskery, cheese and onion loving old man.
How long will this island last in the heart of a blended sea?

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