Holyrood Sonnet (Sunday September 17th)

On wind, on clouds, on dirties to the seat,

Where Arthur watches over the city,

Covered each year with thorned and oiled weed

That could catch fire, which would be a pity.

And so they cut and chopped and tore away

Some from above and others from below

Who would cut more by the end of the day? Both ends worked hard but the going was slow.

At midday they feasted, laughed, and played games

Then back they went to their labor of love

They worked hard, until their hands were in pain

At least the day had been sunny, sort-of

After the job it was time to let loose

So all who could manage dashed to the Hoose.


by Gray Davis

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