Six Nations

Looking out across the field
At teams of men none whom would yield
Ready to battle against a side
Honour needing to be satisfied.

Men stood in centre, others at flanks
Some so huge they resembled tanks
The anthems sung, the talking done
A hard match now that could be won.

A roar goes up, the game begins
Arms and legs and knees and chins
All will be used in this affray
One side will win on this vital day.

The rain held off, there was no mud
On verdant grass these hard men stood
And then the egg-shaped pill flew high
Wingers to catch and go for tries.

Heroes were made upon that day
Of men who’d fight another day
Amidst loud cheers and celebrations
Battle Royal between Six Nations.



Quietly the winter enfolds the once verdant land
Nature closing down in its seasonal dormancy
But wait! A squirrel’s out hunting, trying to add
Those last few precious nuts to its winter supply.

Leaves all frostbitten, now needles come into their own
It is the time of the evergreen and conifers to show
Streams and rills no longer flow, held back by the ice
That has made miniature icebergs from the frozen snow.

A once bright canopy of berries has all but disappeared
Grazed voraciously by a flock of redwings in desperate need
There’s not a single blade of rich green grass in view
All covered now by the Winter snow’s cold white hue.