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So quickly a life on the pitch comes to an end
No longer is he the focus of cheers and screams
When he filled them with awe with legs that bend
As if he is a cartoon not living in reality
Years spent misbehaving at the heart of his tragedy.
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‘The Angel with Bent Legs’ a poet once coined
Witnessing the magic he wove against spellbound teams
The respect and admiration for this wizard conjoined
Dribbling to the point of guilty irritation
Yet embodying the spirit of this footballing nation.
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Triumph in ’62 was his finest hour
He had the ability to fulfill his country’s dreams
With the ball at his feet the defenders would cower
They could not handle the talent he displayed
Knowing he was in the opposition they became dismayed.
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All that is left are memories and an unkept grave
Everyone witnessed him fall apart at the seams
The downhill slide was too great for anyone to save
Left ravaged and penniless in this chaotic story
A different man from the one showered in glory.