The Purest of Pride

It's a war cry

that make the hairs on the end of my neck

stand to attention.

The purest of pride.

A misunderstood force of nature,

sensationalized it summons fear in the uninitiated,

An unrivaled passion passed through generations,

stood shoulder to shoulder,

the undiluted liquid of the Thames,

refusing to be watered down on prescription for the masses,

via oligarchs, Sheiks and American sports magnates.

A whole city pulsates in the passion it generates,

enough to wake the distant memories of docks and ships,

from which it came.

Bricked over by the demands for luxury living,

which forgets as fast as it's built.

But this war cry will never die.

It is the undisputed king of the urban jungle.

For it is the Lions roar

of SE16.