By Exile
June 22 2005

The latest poetic offering from resident messageboard regular Exile. Now bold Sir Clive, the Lord of Bald,
he said he had a plan.
"To defeat our All Black enemies",
he said, "I am your man."

and so he gathered to his camp
lieutenants by the score,
and men from all of England,
tho some, at best, were poor.

The Celts to answered Sir Clive's call
and offered him their best,
but bold Sir Clive took just a few,
for he was not impressed.

And so set off this merry band,
hearts filled with with hope and pride,
and journeyed to the distant land,
where All Blacks do reside.

things opened up with skirmishes,
in which Sir Clive fared well,
but some already had their doubts,
of doom they did foretell.

and so it came to pass one day,
that Moari's did arrive,
and did a war dance terrible,
that frightened poor Sir Clive.

And they drove back his merry band,
and easily won the fight,
and all the All Black land rejoiced
at such a wonderous sight.

but low it cast the merry band,
who now had much to do,
to turn defeat to victory
and make our dreams come true.

To be continued..................???