LIBERTÉ, EGALITÉ, JULES RIMET.
¶ 1
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Soccer’s like a baroque poem
of players you have a gem
of a rose, for the rest
you sort out a petal best
¶ 2
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the linear, dewy morn
than after a long, dry, circling
time, by the rootstock shaking
(oh the athletics of the thorn!) ,
¶ 3
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unless a rumble of war
red or whatever flags
bawdy or moral tags
darken the lucky star.
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