A gossamer breeze glides across the emerald carpet,

with blades of grass as sentinels stand upon the rugby pitch;

An azure sky spreads like an angel’s wings,

to bind the heavens with the mortal fabric of this earth;

The ruggers stalwart fusion melds

alliegance to friendships forged upon the field of play;

Ever to believe with whimsical fancy,

that time will not brandish its intemperance;

But these our halcyon days of mirth and scrums;

awaken to the somber reality which never ceases to be;

Like the tremors of autumnal leaves which

crack as a clarion to the somber moods of winter;

The present falls into memories;

as our hearts are rendered frail and shattered with our tears;

For we have lost a brother;

and the pitch a sadder place upon which to trod.

God speed and God rest , oh fallen Rugger;

Upon a safer, warmer field of dreams.