Scrum
Crouch.
The very air growls guttural.
Eight men against the horde,
And all against the mud and sleet.
The heat of heart and beast roars forward as one.
Plumes of sweat bound skyward.
Sinew Cracks, in muscle, bound
And bunched against endeavour.
Touch.
We strive, at the heart of the world
And each degree, each inch
Of continental shift
Draws ranges mountains capped
With bruised black
Bandaged blood.
Clash! We are a company joined
For naught but victory.
A thud of pain and force.
The call,
Engage.