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The Broad Street Final

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Sweat drips into my eyes,
my hands protecting the prize.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 The sun’s heat is beating,
and the left-back is a clown.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 This might just go on all night,
my car would make a good flood light.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 My hands are “Black and blemished with the hill’s sickness”
and the forwards don’t like my quickness.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 And as I fly between each post,
their chance to equalize is but a ghost.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Then Mam rings me so time is up,
so we lift the FA cup.

3

Notes

yes i know, i stole a line from a mining poem. sorry.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/the-broad-street-final/