Home grown poetry

We take to the field clad all in green,
We work as one; a well oiled machine,
Our foes are many and we are few,
But strong of heart - a victory's due.

The air is cold; the Furze uneven,
Imperial 2's - we'll slay this evil!
We pick the lock into their D,
For we are the men of the RVC.

None leave our home with all three points,
Our foes we strive to disappoint,
As we leave the pitch young Dobson exclaims,
"The fortress stands; the record remains!"

Hot team showers where we recall our victory,
Remembering skills and impressive ball trickery,
Generous squirts of original source,
The RVC men show little remorse.

As night draws in we leave brick lane,
Knowing next week we'll do it again,
And unalone we rest in bed,
To dream of ball and bulging net.