A poem, written by RWBro. Roger Pemberton, Provincial Grand Master in Shropshire
The Old Black Shoes
The old black shoes are looking glum
As I pass the lobby door,
“What's wrong with you?” they seem to say,
“We're going out no more.
We've taken not a single step,
Not third or even first,
And ne'er a sign we've seen you give,
Has Masonry been cursed?”
“It has”, I said, “by virus vile,
We have to stay at home
Until such time the plague has passed,
Then once more we can roam.
The Masons' Halls are empty,
Regalia put away,
Gavels now stay silent,
DCs hold no sway.
Volumes of the Sacred Law
On pedestals redundant,
Now Brother Jim contacts his friends
By social posts abundant.
No handshake, word or secret sign,
No friendly Festive Board
No Tyler's song to say Goodnight,
No organ's well-loved chord.
“Black shoes,” I said, “do not despair,
Our Chain is firm and strong
Our flag of love remains unfurled
We'll sing again our song.
And though our Brethren may have passed
To Grander Lodge Above,
We'll look upon their memories
With everlasting Love;
And in their name, we'll offer help
And soothe the burdened heart;
We'll comfort those who are distressed,
Thus Masons play their part.
And when this crisis is resolved
We'll sing the old refrain,
Happy to Meet, Sorry to Part,
Happy to meet again.”