Festival

Well within St Swithin's meter,
drenched in mire, bog and mud;
we toast friendship, undercover,
tentage sagging in the flud.
Merriment, fayre, sweet Mystery play,
come join our roust and doughty flay
of pompous hides, and seek a day
when common man, sings common lay;
for all, a Round, of blood.

edit 30.7.10