Gold as an infant’s humming dream,
Stamped with its timeless, tropic blush,
The steady sun stands in the air
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Blossom the magician transformed
winter’s curfew hours
into foaming white petals
The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,
whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood;
who strives valiantly;
Always say ‘Ta’ to Leamington Spa
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
O’er rough and smooth with even step he pass’d,
And knows not whether he be first or last.
