More tomorrows please!
¶ 1
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I crest the wave –
for all of a few seconds
then crash under water
spinning like a chased seal
and finally surfacing
spitting salt ‘n seaweed –
surfing just isn’t my ding-a-ling
¶ 2
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I crest the brow of the hill
puffing cheeks like a blowfish
then stare contentedly across the valley –
down on my village nestling
twixt babbling brook and verdant vale
¶ 3
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look – there’s the new pitch, new dressing room –
so much to be proud of
and yet…
there’s something missing
¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 for it’s a different code, a different land…
¶ 5
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the crest that I crave
is hermetically sealed across my chest
and there’s no doubting
that it’ll be there forever…
¶ 6
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but when the boys run out tomorrow
and do their stuff
and win the Prem – again…
¶ 7
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I won’t be there
for I’m too far away
an emigré, turning grey
far across the sea –
but that sea of Blue
will ripple right from the start
and crash ashore
like a swell to my heart!
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