Pome for Bilby’s Competition

When Malcolm was the King of Scots,
The Normans came to call
The Bastard put out Harold’s eye
And England fell in thrall.

Then Saxon Margaret northward fled.
Our king toook her as bride
And granted to her cup-bearer
Rich lands both broad and wide.

Just south of Embra, pearl of the land,
Lay Rosslyn rich and fair.
And Malcolm gave it to her knight
William ‘Seemly’ St. Clair.

The family grew in wealth and fame
Four centuries past them ran
Another William owned the lands
A pious, holy man.

He planned to build a mighty church
With skyward-steepling spire.
Where saint and sinner, lord and serf
Could seek some purpose higher.

The ground was wrong, good William died
His heirs gave not a whit.
All that was built of his great church
Was the Chapel (cheapest bit).

And down through time the Chapel’s fame
Throughout the world has grown.
For Masonic marvel, mystery, myth
It truly stands alone.

Its carvings rich and all obscure
Give fantasies full flavour.
Whatever nonsense you believe
You’ll find some ‘proof’ to savour

But there’s one arch that makes you pause
And seek the truth within
On one side, seven virtues carved
On th’other the opposite sin

It’s there you’ll find a puzzling fact.
Once seen, it’s hard to miss!
For Charity is in the sins.
In the virtues, Avarice.

There’s some that say a Mason drunk
Just got it awfully wrong
But I believe there’s no mistake
And he meant it all along.

Just bear in mind that we are Jocks
Dour and mean in every way.
Giving hard earned cash is no great joy
And keeping it’s OK.


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