Mae hi’n boeth iawn. Crasboeth, mewn gwirionedd.
Yn yr ardd, maen nhw’n rhedeg allan o ddŵr. Mae powlen ddŵr y cathod bron yn wag. Does dim digon o ddŵr i Santes Dwynwen wneud cwstard.
Mae’r tatws a’r madarch eisiau cuddio yn y pridd, ond mae e’n rhy galed.
Mae syniad gyda Dewi Sant.
– Beth am i chi’r madarch wneud defod hudolus? meddai i’r Archfadarchen.
– Fel dawns law? meddai’r Archfadarchen yn amheus.
Mae Dewi Sant yn nodio ei ben.
– Dw i ddim yn hoffi dawnsio. Mae dawnsio mor uffernol.
– Ond, fy annwyl Archfadarchen, fe allech chi achub y byd.
– Dim dawnsio.
Saesneg / English
Drought
It’s very hot. Scorching hot, in fact.
In the garden, they are running out of water. The cats’ water bowl is almost empty. There is not enough water for Saint Dwynwen to make custard.
The potatoes and mushrooms want to hide in the soil, but it’s too hard.
Saint David has an idea.
– Why don’t you mushrooms do a magical ritual? he says to the Arch-mushroom.
– Like a rain dance? says the Arch-mushroom suspiciously.
Saint David nods his head.
– I don’t like dancing. Dancing is so hellish.
– But, my dear Arch-mushroom, you could save the world.
– No dancing.
