Cardboard box brings on Football Poem!
¶ 1
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Pulp, lay mushed
in the wet November road
I knew it was such
from the remnants of the packaging
lying sodden in the gutter
some having escaped
the trampling underfoot
of the modern revolutionary horsepower
¶ 2
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but all the same
the brown slush, looked like …
rhymes with …
white
might
blight (kick it out)
¶ 3
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in fact, the sort of stuff
that my team has been dishing out for years
but no more …
in fact, now
I not only expect them to score
but also
to realistically
have a shout … at THE TITLE!
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