Poet Haf Llewelyn says of her A470 poem, Ar yr Ffordd Adra,

Thinking of the A470 brings visions of winding rides through mist and drizzle, a gang of raucous children in the back seat, the wind-screen wipers thudding. As we passed villages and valleys on our journey, I would try to instil in them a sense of belonging to place and an understanding of historical events. My worthy efforts almost inevitably met with the usual rolling of eyes or – ‘Are we there yet?’

Mae’n niwl a glaw mân a minnau’n ceisio tywallt synnwyr o berthyn a ffeithiau hanes i dagfa o blant swnllyd yn y sêt gefn. Mae’r weipars yn clecian. A minnau’n mynnu iddyn nhw wybod am y pentrefi a’r cymoedd sy’n gwibio heibio. Dim ond rholio llygaid wna’ nhw, be’ ydy’r otsh? Dim ond un cwestiwn sy’n aros – ‘Pryd byddwn ni yno?”