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The Old Lion

Trent Morris

Wednesday, April 16th, 2014

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 When he was young
He could run
He could dribble a ball.
His shot: so much power
A press gang could not
Form a wall.
The crosses: such arc,
The whole park drew its breath
Still in awe.
With his stamp on the game
We’d proclaim his first name
And stand tall

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Then, near the end,
He’d defend
And not take the man on.
Like some kings who survived
In this realm
Sometimes went out the pawn.
And stayed through the fade
Unafraid of their trade or things gone
While the grind in their mind
Tried to find
What was left of their brawn.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Now long in the tooth
In the booth
Where the old lions go,
I point for my son
To “The One”
Made all others seem slow.
But it’s hard to explain
To those after his reign
Who don’t know
That when he was young
He could run
And his touch thrilled us so.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 2014

© Trent Morris April 16, 2014

Notes

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