This poem was written a couple of weeks after the previous battle ode; Pride of the Holts,
but the poem was lost, until now.
Two warriors bound together as brothers true.
Yet oft times laughter is overdue.
The older brother a giant of grey,
Chose to perch throughout the day
On a box of boarded card;
Supply repository for the school yard.
Yet from his mighty perch he slipped
On to the floor he gracelessly tripped.
To watch his elder fall to earth
Filled the younger up with mirth.
And when his laughter faded away
He climbed to show the proper way.
He perched upon his brother’s box seat.
The elder climbed to watch his junior beat.
He watched and waited for the fall;
To see baby bro bounce like a ball.
Patiently he took his time;
To see punishment to fit pride’s crime.
The smaller cat just would not drop;
Lithe and limber unlike Old Pop!
The old cat rose his patience spent,
Stalked to his brother, ire to vent.
A measured stare, then a hearty shove,
“Let’s see you fly my little dove!”
The box didn’t move, not one bit.
Our senior realised the wrong thing he’d hit;
A thrashing was needed to show junior his place,
For daring to add to his senor’s disgrace!
But the little tartar was much too aggressive,
The older cat had to settle for something more restive.