Ar lan y môr, on a tide-smoothed shore,

I cast an old pebble to the waves once more.

Whispering farewell to what’s heavy or gone,

The sea carries my sorrows with the ebb of the dawn.

Ar lan y môr, where the sky kisses foam,

A new pebble shines, salt-kissed and smooth from its roam.

I pick up this token of all that can be,

Light in pocket hope carried from sea.

Ar lan y môr, under cloud-softened blue,

Old stone in the depths, and my heart born anew.

With each wave that washes both memory and sand,

I trade pain for promise, held safe in my hand.