“Brokenbrow and Havenhand”
Brass-plated, fixed upon the door
One phrase the two, yet seldom seen
Together now, for many a year.
Brokenbrow, the elder partner,
All must pass; He will not smile -
Furrowed in subtlety, each year harsher,
Sharp as a paper-cut, never still.
Beneath the tomes of precedent
Old Brokenbrow would pace the floor
Whilst outside in the cold and snow,
Havenhand failed to help the poor.
But who’d have thought – look to the bar!
Arguing council, church, and mill,
Drunken in subtleties, loud yet obscure,
Avid and stubborn, wrangling still.