Well, knock me right down with a feather
It’s true that some faith in whatever
And holding one’s nerve under fire
Can result in the things we require
Being sent to us served on a plate
By God, chance or synchronous fate
So, cross fingers or whisper a prayer
Take small practical steps up the stair
Fret ye not and have hope for the best
And watch time take good care of the rest
Who can say what the future will bring
When we wait for fat ladies to sing
by Gail
Alex Lascelles had a twinkle in her eye and one of the most powerful reading voices I have ever heard; her funeral is being held this Friday, at the church of St. John the Baptist in Devizes, at 2.45pm. Rest in peace, lady.
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*
When Alex Lascelles
Did the readings at church
Her deep ancient voice
Like a dignified drum
Sounded like God
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by Gail
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The All Blacks, man, are they for real?
They’re faster than the speed of light
Don’t blink, you’ll miss them, they’re surreal
I’m awake, not dreaming, right?
They just left the French for dead
They’re faster than the speed of sound
Eyes in the back of every head
Feet that fly above the ground
What power, what fitness, what on earth
Possesses men to be that fine
What strange goddess gave them birth
What discipline keeps them in line
I sit here gobsmacked, oh my days
I understand now, here’s the crack;
The All Blacks move in mysterious ways
Dark Gods of rugby blessed, in black
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by Gail
On the Green Men who are carved in stone at the church
of St. John the Baptist, Devizes…
gailfromdevizes 