Centuries of chancery power the roll,
Endeared to danger it’s more than a stroll.
The onset of spring bathes the roster
Who’ll gyrate after the Double Gloucester?
All hope that bruises are never a toll.
The hill stands proud, smirking at all,
It knows that idiots will badly fall,
But whose anticipation sends the spark
To the organisers, at the top of the park,
To kick them off: the ones who are ne’er for all.
And as the cheese begins to bound,
A great roar rises, as lungs are found,
As are many legs, soon all freewheeling;
None to find that speed has a ceiling.
Rather, the bodies above soon rocket to ground.
So bravery messes with common sense
As people empty their pockets of cents.
Future detectorists will always thrill
Over one such massive coinage spill,
Yet richness is harnessed, in minds so dense.
Ploughing through failing limbs on the way,
The winner somersaults from the fray,
Thrusting arms to grab the cheese,
Finding their skull meeting their knees,
To relish the toast, the underlying reason . . . for this day.
[This is a Featured Poem from our Spring 2024 Poetry Contest.]
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