Duw Duw, I prospect not for Clogai gold
Or care not who sups Brains at my own cost;
I grieve not for those who have no garments red
Upon their backs, or forwards, bear no blues
But should I sin by wanting future glory
Then perhaps consign me to the heretic’s fire.
No Faith is better placed, as one from Little England knows
God’s peace rests and it is no lack in honour
To all would say this side of Severn’s flow
It’s best to Hope and wish for one try more
And proclaim it, West Walian, with the hwyl filled host,
Should men in blue have no stomach to this fight
Let them depart; Their passport shall be stamped
And pay their homeward fare into their purse.
Red men would rather die than miss their presence
And the fearing of a scarlet tidal wave to rise
On this eve of Patrick’s day, for green
Envy of our safest passage through their lines.
They stand well cocked, stud to stud, toe to toe
And be aroused at the name of Patrick.
He that lives through this to see old age
Will each year ready self on Dewi Sant
To get the drinks in and the tables spread
Next fortnight is St Patrick’s Day my friend
And he will raise his vest to show beneath
The redded breast with feathers three-emblemed
To say that he was there upon St Patrick’s day.
Old props forgot; but Half backs names are never lost
We’ll all remember, Bennett sidesteps three
What feats he did can yet be done again
And you at ten become as well remembered.
Household names like John the King, Edwards
Merve the swerve, The one and only Shane
Initialled too as JPR and JJ from the west
Be in their clubhouse freshly honoured too
This game shall every fan recall to son and son
And David, Patrick's heir, shall not be passed
From now till eternity’s beginning
Or twenty two, the band of brothers
Will mind of Warren’s talk to lead them on
“Whoever sheds his blood and sweat today
Shall be my brother; be he never set his foot
South of the equator, gentle though we’re not
And gentlemen antipodeans all
Would be as proud, and think they were accursed
That they could not be warriors red like you
And hold their manhood cheap while any speaks
That played with us upon St Patrick’s day."
© Mike Richardson
Gatland's Wales are good enough to take on the southern giants
Mike lived in Pembrokeshire. After University in West Wales, he left for City Life. He still hankers after the country that has inspired his writing.