Sonnet to Norwich City
¶ 1
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Shall I relegate thee on a Summer’s day?
Thou art so pointless and so desperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Premier time hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of City fans,
And oft is their bright complexion dimmed,
As every loss from win sometime declines,
By chance, with City’s downward plunge untrimmed:
But thy eternal yo-yo shall not fade,
Nor gain possession of that ball thou ow’st,
Nor Ipswich brag thou wander’st in their shade,
Tho’ thy shots shall hit th’eternal post,
So long as fans can breathe, or fans can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
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