He has a voice
He has a voice just made for talking
Loudly in suburban bars
Just like a foghorn resonating
Above the clamor induced by jars.
He drives a car that once had seen
Some better times and parking fines
When he picked up girls and left off mates
In early morn from late late dates.
His rugby played he now continues
To share opinions with his followers
In Donnybrook and far off Greystones
Wherever lager is available.
The game has changed but not his speeches
Delivered to a dwindling crew
For many souls bailed out to marriage
Defiant he among the resolute few.
The new season beckons in September
On with the blazer and rugby tie
Honor among players creates a rule
On weekend nights to down a few.
She has a voice that matches his
Honed in smoky bars with vodka tonic
They have been together on and off
For five and twenty years but hey
No wedding fair, no fairy tale
No wedding veil, no married bliss
No regrets but tons of memories
We each will choose our happiness.
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