Sun glitters on the water:
In a place both English and Welsh,
In the cafe which is the world,
The end of the clew is lying
In the dust under somebody's chair.

If you could be there, in that once holy place,
By that wide interrogative river,
You could find the Guardian at the gate,
Fierce but fair, and ask for the way to
The weaver who lives by the water...

You would be the first questor, your foot set down
On the long pathway which leads to the heart of this mystery.

Act now and much effort is avoided later.
Soon the wind will rise again,
And our traces may be covered...