Ballad of David, man o Munro

 

Now seventy-seven, with a femur just mended,

Wer David's adventures haven’t yet ended.

From Edinburgh's mean streets to Westray's peaceful shore,

A retired lawyer still holds court with tales galore.

 

Oh, hear the trumpet of David blow,

The oldest Munro-bagger, don't you know!

From '74 to '24, he's climbed them all,

This reckless Devo won't let age enthral.

 

He judges poems with literati flair,

And seeks a lassie's Nat 5 critique with care.

Down Snakes and Ladders, he may have slid,

But his spirit's strong, this canny kid.

 

With fellow-poet Henry in Westray, poetry flowed,

From Burns to Poe, how their knowledge showed.

Remembering the greats like they were old mates,

Brimming with plans and still tempting fates.

 

Three hundred miles by car and ferry,

For a Munro reception, oh so merry.

A gong, a 'bunnet', and a wee flag too,

Rewards for a climber reckless and true.

 

Obituaries he pens with grace,

Of friends departed, he keeps pace.

From broken bones to mountain peaks,

The next adventure David always seeks.

 

So, blow that trumpet, David dear,

Your tales of triumph we love to hear.

From Edinburgh Academy to Orkney's call,

You're the oldest climber, standing tall!