Today’s little sortie at Clisson …

This came to mind:

Jolly boating weather
And a hay harvest breeze,
Blade on the feather,
Shade off the trees,
Swing, swing, together,
With you bodies between your knees.

Skirting past the rushes,
Ruffling o’er the weeds
Where the lock stream gushes
Where the cygnet feeds.
Let us see how the wine-glass flushes
At supper on Petite Maine’s meads.

Harrow may be more clever,
Rugby may make more row,
But we’ll row, row forever,
Steady from stroke to bow,
And nothing in life shall sever
The chain that is round us now.

Others will fill our places,
Dressed in the old light blue;
We’ll recollect our races,
We’ll to the flag be true,
And youth will be still in our faces,
When we cheer for a Chavvers crew.

Twenty years hence this weather
Will tempt us from office stools.
We may be slow on the feather,
And seem to the boys old fools,
But we’ll still swing together,
And swear by the best of schools.

With apologies to Mr William Cory.

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