English Football R.I.P.

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 A tear stained flag upon his face,
His team had no leader or pace.
No pride within to wear the shirt,
This was the thing that really hurt.
No furrowed brows in defeat,
With head in hands sat in his seat.
He”d worked overtime sold his car,
Took time off to come this far.
Four years of anticipation,
Stars have no appreciation.
Of the the average man in the street,
Who will support and take defeat.
If they show effort when they play.
Not think of what clubs may pay.
They take their unearned hundred grand,
Then fly to tropics,lay on sand.
Whilst average Joe works eight to five,
Earns enough simply to survive.
But their hearts are etched in the team,
Country,home town they have a dream.


Footballs coming where?jim.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/english-football-r-i-p/