Dear Mr Brooke, she writes, you are such a good poet I can hardly believe you are not Welsh, you would go down a treat at an Eisteddfod. It's such a pity that you decided to bang on about England. Look how much better it would sound if you had made it:
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever Wales.
Not only that, but there are more words to rhyme with Wales than there are with England, which is important for you poets, well, except the modern ones who can't spell or do up their flies, let alone make their poetry rhyme.
But I carp. You did well.
But I would advise you to tone it down a bit if you ever find yourself one night alone and unarmed on the streets of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwll-llantysiliogogogoch**.
Yours
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, Widow, Undimmed.
**For my foreign readers, this really IS the name of a Welsh village. Don't believe me? Cop this (with an English translation for the illiterate):
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