Maradona King of Naples
¶ 1
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What miracles for feet
What poems born from
The golden boots beneath
Southern skies
Upon a pitch blessed
By the limbs of God
Oh fields of fire
Apathy and despair banished
The Northern aristocrats
Humbled and slain
By defiant skills
So achingly beautiful
The Angels dipped low
And like us mortals
Breathlessly watched.
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