From “Cotswold Nostalgia"
We abhor getting wet,
so when rain is a threat
we retreat as the thundercloud masses –
we shall wait out the showers
with a few happy hours
fully bent on the rubbing of brasses.
We’d not cared in the least
to rub and be fleeced
in the traps for the traveling classes,
where the prices are steep –
here the vicar is cheap,
in the church where the sheep-
magnates sleep under elegant brasses.
Though we’ve dust in our eyes
we observe with surprise
just how swiftly the interval passes.
Though our ankles may freeze
and we’ve pains in our knees
there’s delight in the rubbing of brasses.
In their frames they look fine
as they hang where we dine,
inspiring a lifting of glasses,
and a toast to the joys
that we shared with our boys
in the days of the rubbing of brasses.
