Andrew David Dalby
Here we were, just us bottom knocker's all;
Young, flinted, bevelled steel, still strong.
Oh how glad, how proud, and in such fine fettle;
As we leaned, upon our plumping mawls… long.
For we were ready, throbbing giddy and sweaty;
As the saggar slowly filled his ever blistered frame.
And with no humility the marl we happily shared;
For we dare not fight against the maker s name.
we were a naked witness to the bottles outer hovel;
Its wicket, stained and cracked but resisted fire well.
So with our placer's raised in high position shovelled;
We made our mark…within the clammin we stood.
Oh, our saggers were so tall; they nearly went to fall,
As unfired guns want for more, screamed in battle-cry!
While within, our biscuits pinned, with saddled, spur;
Those thimble few, did safely rest with the interred.
With firemouth's bagged, and battet out and well;
We witnessed the blistering heat start to swell.
Our burnished bodies frenzied bucked and baked.
With toiled rags chopped, we near burst with hate.
Yet deep within our hearts, oh… how our bungs shone;
For they were neither caught taught or made in vain
For we fought the heat with dampers on the crown;
And dared not set a crack against the makers name.
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