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The Goal

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 I write FOOTBALL
On a wall that nobody sees
My poems hang in mysterious silence
Like the Mona Lisa (what did she see?)
I dream in the colours of Pele and Zico
And slip between the grey raindrops
Of my Northern home
My shoes fill with rain and yet
I still jump over puddles, not into them
I am all grown now
But I see a stone
In the middle of the pavement
No bigger than a conker
And suddenly I am Maradona racing
Past Reid and what remains
Of the shell shocked English defence
And with the world at my feet
I drill the ball past the helpless hands
Of Peter Shilton
And shout “GOAL!” to the angels
Who watch, and then I redden
As the kids at the Bus Stop stare at me
Like I am quite mad
Perhaps I am
But I have not yet forgotten
How to dream.

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/the-goal/