To a Genial Genius
¶ 1
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No matter what he looks like now,
Pontificating on the box
On football matters that don’t matter.
I remember, in December’s gloom, a shot,
A comet shot from him
That, I swear, scorched its way into the net
At Stamford Bridge.
And we forget, bright summer’s promise
Always ends in Autumn leaves.
Thanks Jimmy Greaves.
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