The first sorrow is of the Gaffer,
Who promised so much,
But whose reputation now lies in tatters.
The second sorrow is of the keeper,
Whose bungled save derailed the Campaign
Before it had time to get underway.
The third sorrow is of his team-mates,
Who quake at the thought of flying home
To face a nation irate.
The fourth sorrow is of the fans,
Let down yet again,
Who can but stare in disbelief and wring their hands.
The fifth sorrow is of landlords of pubs,
Makers of crisps and other such grub,
Whose profits will now tail off somewhat.
The sixth sorrow is of the PM,
Whose hopes of cashing in on a World Cup win
Have now come to an end.
The seventh sorrow is of this expat poet,
Who shares your dismay and grief
In seeing his homeland blow it.
Denys E. W. Jones