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The Soft South: A Satire

By Alexander Pope – alright, it’s a fair cop, Stuart Butler

Thursday, March 29th, 2001

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 In these sequestered southern hills,
By lime tree bowers and sylvan rills,
The nightingale out sings the bard,
Unlike up t’North where t’life is ‘ard.
So sing up please, you swains and fans,
Outwrite these Northern fancy Dans,
Let’s hear some southern football rhymes
Of past and present football times.
Is scribbling stopped by central heating,
Soft southern life and over-eating?
Northern rhymes are tough and critical,
Our southern ballads should be lyrical.
But where are the rhymes from the Great Wen?
From White Hart Lane or e’en the Den?
From landskips green and pastoral,
There comes no football parable.
But icy crags and windswept moors
Leave leaving cards at southern doors,
So seize the quill, soft sun-kissed south,
Let drops of ink now end this drought.
So watch out now, yon stalwart North,
For now our clarion cry goes forth,
To football fans, south, east and west,
We all know that the South is best.

Notes

I doff my bobble hat to all you northern bards.
Alas, where are the pens of yesteryear?

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/the-soft-south-a-satire/