Confitebor tibi in cithara…
Salvation’s army bands together ditties
By winding out its brass and sounding off
A penny tin. Its trumping drum entreaties
The saints in choirs large and loud enough
To tattoo tunes with horn and pipe – like rivers
Of earth that course through heavenly endeavors.
So, running gold, the salmon-studded Spey
Now flows into this Advent’s seventh day
From Glenfarclas – where vernal vales are ringing
The bladed cadences that sound the chant
Like wind that combs the grass: all tongues are bent
To sing, all silent hearts are thronged with longing:
Forever meets with infant flesh and spills
A cry that troops the everlasting hills.
Yeah, but is it any good?
Nice picture, by the by.
And an interesting use of “troops.”
“All tongues are bent/To sing” – that about says it all.
But yes smooth with nice fiery undertones.
JOB
Pardon my ignorance, what’s the connection to Salvation army?
Fixed.
The pun is more strident but also more clever (everclever…).
JOB
Nice. “Like wind that combs the grass,” indeed.