As winter thors over hallowed grounds
six nations wait on thunder pounds.
In the cold air - an ancient battle call.
In pain or glory - anthems sang loud,
anthems stood tall.
Red and Blue - marching separate toward
the same fight.
Emerald Green or blood stained White.
Flowing through the veins - a stubborn pride.
A broken line, a wounded stride.
Six nations - one burning aim.
The honour to lift - rugby's finest flame.
Smith Shine Poetry 