The Love of Football
¶ 1
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Sweet the old dreams
That linger in silence and shadow
So many moons that sailed the cloudless ocean
My old nights washed away upon each wave
Standing terrace warm scarf frozen fingers
But still the songs found freedom
Met with the skies dipping down low
Mud on studs and tackles flying
Crunching bones and meatless pies
Bovril gravy hard as “Chopper”
Golden days, now I realise.
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