We march like ancient warriors

along the rugged track,

To another field of battle

There is no looking back.

Our hearts are strong and wilful

Our hopes continue on

We are the veterans rugby team

Whose muscles have all gone.

The game begins and in no time,

we are praying for a rest

No violent scrums we settle in

like hens upon a nest.

The referee has abandoned hope

of controlling this debacle,

Our collective aim is to a man

avoid having to tackle.

Spectators few in number

There for memories sake

Stand and issue platitudes

Like mourners at a wake.

Our wives abandon us to chance

Of ever coming back

They see the pain that has no gain

and give us constant flack.

They say we men are obsolete

Mars usurped by Venus

Our worth is measured only

by the short length of our penis.

They demean us daily

saying boys they will be boys,

then replace us in the marital sack

with a range of sexual toys.

Yet we will fight on valiantly

sod our feminine side

We owe it to our brave young sons

To avoid the manhood slide.

So hardy veterans every where

Play on, theres no game finer.

Against the ever growing threat

The march of the vagina.

So get up off your knees, man

Support your local club.

If she says be home by six

her demanding you must snub.

Give her both barrels, my son

Reduce her to a pallor

And you and I will one day share

a brew in old Valhalla.

Glyn Scott

The Ruptured Bard.