Saturday night, my phone pinged beside me, alerting me to the sad, sad news – the death of Doddie Weir. He was only fifty-two years old. The rain was teeming down outside, as though tears …
Please, Stop the Rain …
I thought it had stopped
But I was wrong
Another drop, another gone.
The rain seems a mirror
To a world filled with gloom
But nothing prepares
For one taken too soon.
Hit like a bolt
When I heard the news
Like a kick in the gut,
Please, don’t be true!
Though I never did meet him
His fame it did soar
For this giant of rugby
Was oh, so much more.
His eyes positively twinkled
Like the smile on his face
His zest for life, infectious
His kindness, his grace.
He had everything to live for,
His family loved him so
Why, then, did it happen
That he had to go?
Six years, they have passed
Since that cruellest of blows
MND, a death sentence
A cure? No-one knows.
But he did not falter,
Giving all he had left
Raising money for others
Too late for himself.
Through the years, he held Scotland
Very close to his heart
His tartan suit reflecting
His nation and its part …
In a life which shone so brightly
Loved by all who crossed his path.
Now, the skies are that much darker
And the rain, it is but tears
For the world has lost a hero,
His name was Doddie Weir.
A Voice Outwith the Crowd
November 2022
For the legend that was – and will always be – Doddie Weir …
This is Trish, signing off.
