On Wenlock Edge

Photography by Jay Cool

On Wenlock Edge, Jay Cool’s in trouble.
With frizzed-up fringe, the Wrekin heaves;
The gale, it plies her old bones double,
And sick of Severn breeze, she leaves.

‘Twould blow like this through holt and hanger.
When Uricon the city stood.
The Roman farts, expressing anger,
At Jay Cool’s claim to womanhood.

Then, ’twas before her time, the Roman
At yonder lovely girls would stare;
The fire that warmed the parts of all man
To which Jay Cool does not compare.

The gale, it plies her old bones double.
Still blows so hard, she’ll soon be gone.
Today the Roman and his trouble.
Are ashes under Uricon.

Jay Cool’s modified version of ‘A Shropshire Lad’ by A. E. Housman, September 2018