Washed in the font of the brave and the crooning, 
Snatched from the altars of insolent foes, 
Burning with passion, but never consuming, 
Flashing crowned onion to tickle the nose.

Vainly the four winds would rend it, 
Against all adversity, our flag would stand tall; 
Our Chairman commands that his men they defend it, 
Emblem of justice and mercy to all;

Explosions redden the sky with their terrors, 
Our bugler, he bugles, regardless of rain, 
Resplendent in scarlet - our glorious errors, 
Wielding the sabre and braving the pain.

Borne on the deluge of all Champagne houses, 
Drifted our Ark over snow-cover’d leas, 
To Otterburn, our company espouses, 
Hedonism and bonhomie, despite the freeze!

God bless the Flag and its loyal defenders, 
While its proud symbols o'er the battle-field wave, 
Till the dim standard rekindles its splendours, 
Washed from cigar smoke - our honour to save!

By K Beattie,  Heraldic Officer to The Otterburn Society, 

A poem inspired by the poet Oliver Wendell Holmes in a poem of the same title.