Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.
Let’s have a really great show.
Let’s fly just like an arrow,
Faster than a sparrow.

We know we are the best.
Let’s put it to the test.
Prove we are worthy champions
From The South Pole to the Grampians.

Just see our motivation:
Our hope is our foundation.
We’re full of self belief
And going to cause some grief.

We know we are so great.
To play we cannot wait.
Once more unto the breach:
A win’s within our reach.

Paul Butters

© PB 13\1\2020. From a diary jotting 7\1.

A shutter clicks in flashing colors,
recording the imaginary.

The wheezing voice of tales unfolding,
now hoarse from an endless retelling.

Capture what we can't remember,
make up everything that's left.

A faint, but echoed, call to arms
that no on hears on set

Enfield punches the ground, wheels throw up muddy rainbows
from where they sank with the rain. The rider, some fresh young college thing,
flinches as it ricochets off his goggles, then unsteadily pulls away
wrestling with this strange machine. The old blokes laugh
with their propane cookers and badger-stripe beards, slick
with bacon grease and spit. Outside the beer tent
a kid fingers an old blues tune on a scarred and beaten acoustic.
Coins thrown into an old railway cap, her grandfather’s
smile golden in the sunrise.

Tonight you feast,
getting ready to slay the beast.
You'll mount your ride,
and get ready for that slide,
into battle you will go,
running past any enemies that may slow,
down your progress for the two days you'll be gone,
until the moment you're back where you belong.
You'll concur and succeed where others have not,
your enimies will run cold, as your blood runs hot,
to sleigh them all, with your wicked spells.
With your words you can summon the strength to send them to hell.
They'll try to trick, and try to betray,
but you'll be on top and victor of the day.
I look forward to the tales that will be told,
because a warrior as fine as you, is among the most bold.