Rotten To The Core
¶ 1
Leave a comment on verse 1 0
Yon whistle shrill for half time sounded,
Bringing peace upon the field,
Neither side about to yield
To leave their aspirations grounded.
And thus this giant of the game
Across the blighted Tolka grass
Toward the dressing room did pass,
As infidels decried his name.
This fearless knight of ample girth
Who, from his newfound rebel den
Denounced the bands of evil men
Who ate their babies after birth.
With righteous ire and honest tongue,
He fanned the flames of holy war
Against those rotten to the core
Who breathed foul lies from septic lung.
And now, within these blood-stained walls,
Amongst the scum he so despised,
He strode, defiant, unsurprised
At all the vitriolic calls.
But, as he hate with humour staunched,
From deep within the pagan hordes,
Behind the advertising boards,
A murderous attack was launched.
A latex sphere, with water loaded,
Through the humid, Dublin air,
Beside our hero, tall and fair,
With skilled, unerring aim exploded.
[Further evidence, if needed,
That these men with bright red flags,
And laden down with moneybags,
Had now the depths of Hell exceeded.]
The silenced crowd, in wide-eyed shock,
Beheld the callous, heinous act,
And were with grievous pity wracked,
As water flew o’er shoe and sock.
Bravely though, he took the blow,
This noble man could not be broken,
Though protesting words were spoken,
‘Pon the soaking of his toe.
He did not fall, he did not crack,
Though he in great surprise did stumble,
His fine Cork spirit did not crumble,
Faced by such a vile attack.
For though his water damaged suit
Was proof of murderous intent
By rotten men on evil bent,
‘Twas not as bad as Heary’s boot.
Comments
0 Comments on the whole Poem
Create an account to leave a comment on the whole Poem
0 Comments on verse 1
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 1