The Rodborough Doggy Tree
¶ 1
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When the sun descends beyond yon hill,
And gilds the golden cumulous,
Thou shalt find me in the winter chill,
Cantering past some tumulus,
Or ancient circle, sarsen-girt,
Then on to fairest RODBOROUGH Fort,
For feral football in the dirt,
Until the darkness calls a halt.
And then we trot across the scree,
Past moonlit dewpond, all serene,
To celebrate the DOGGY TREE,
Each Christmas tide a gladsome scene,
With bauble, bell and glittered card,
All pendant-hung and tree-top starred,
And there we read from my dear leader,
“A Merry Christmas to our Readers.”
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