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Brazil’s General’s Will

Jean Jacque Rousseau

Sunday, June 9th, 2002

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Brazil, Brasil, Brazil,
You are not over the hill,
And you are not Mediterranean,
Or conceptually subterranean,
(I can see from my window sill,
I live now in Seville)
But you are Brasil, Brazil, Brazil,
And I cannot get my fill
Of watching you, Brazil,
For I am never ill
From eating porcine swill,
When I watch dear Brazil;
I find that I just chill,
Or maybe eat some dill,
Mixed in with some mixed grill,
I find that’s really brill,
When I watch dear Brazil.
Though maybe not for krill,
Or anything with a gill,
Nor nursery Jack, nor Jill,
Nor the resolute Old Bill,
But when I sit down in Seville,
Like Cecil B De Mille,
I think of the General Will,
And how my dear Brazil
Will bloom like a daffodil,
And dance football’s quadrille,
We score four, they score nil,
Until
The final whist-ill’s
Wind blows the opposition
No good.
And that’s the General’s Will.

© Jean Jacque Rousseau

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/brazils-generals-will/