It started out as a whisper,

a small national joke

at the expense of our once

blighted, blind devotion,

to a game, a pastime,

we believed with arrogance

that should always be ours

to hold aloft the greatest prize.

Like conquest, of Empire,

of taking what wasn’t ours,

we demanded it and we became

barbaric.

The whisper turned,

not out of self-importance

or crass, dogged egotism,

but out of hope,

that we might once again

be civilised about such things,

humility, humility…humility

stay humble, don’t wreck a life

if you win or lose, be humble

in the pleasure of being the last to stand

in modern gladiatorial games,

be respectful

to the victor and applaud their fortitude,

whisper if you must,

dream, for the dream is beautiful

and should you stand tall

at the end, then

the song…the beautiful song

is yours to own.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018