Six Nations wake from slumber

As winter turns to Spring

For tribal warfare on the pitch

It’s a Celts and Saxons thing

 

They’ll be singing hymns and arias

From the Tiber to the Tay

And the week feels that much longer

As we wait for Saturday

 

And the squads are called together

From places far and wide

There will be sunshine and foul weather

There will be shirts that fill with pride

 

As those who have the honour

To represent their mother nation

Belt out the anthem lustily

In fierce anticipation

 

Fratelli and Jerusalem

Athenry, the Marseillaise

We stand together, bound with them

And foaming glasses raise

 

In Twickenham, on Grafton Street

On the Boulevard St Michel

New friends are made and old friends meet

With stories still to tell

 

On the Royal Mile there’s the tartan sway

Of kilts and tam o’ shanters

Proclaiming Flower of Scotland

And exchanging sharp tongued banter

 

Robbo, Butler, Morgan, Boyce

Bill McLaren’s Hawick voice

Watch O’Driscoll dart and dance

Serge Blanco lights up Parcs des Princes

 

It’s a long afternoon in Hospitality

While they’re closing the roof at the Principality,

And on the pitch forever young,

Are Edwards, Bennett, and Barry John

 

King JPR with socks rolled down

Wears a sweatband as a crown

There goes JJ flying past

Rory, Jason - just as fast

 

Willy John shouts ninety-nine

All hell breaks loose on the half way line

Irvine, McLaughlin, Tony Stainger

Scrum collapses, line break danger

 

Slattery steals another ball

As Nigel Owens calls a maul

And through it all we marvel at

The leaps, the steps, the hits

The hand of history that sits

On every shoulder standing tall

That answers to a country’s call

 

It’s that grey but glorious time of year

An overlap, he’s in the clear!

But for now, we wait for the whistle to blow

Six Nations collide. Here we go…