Trampolining
¶ 1
Leave a comment on verse 1 0
There doesn’t seem to be a clear pace-setter,
careering through the fixtures with incision.
There’s not one club that seems a whole lot better
than all the other teams in the division.
Everybody’s waiting to see whether
someone’s going to string some wins together;
and if, by chance, one of the eight teams does,
I only hope to heaven that it’s us.
¶ 2
Leave a comment on verse 2 0
Some years are odd, but this one’s even odder –
all pre-season forecasts need revision.
No club seems they’ll end up canon-fodder
for all the other teams in the division.
The form book can be thrown out of the window;
you can’t believe the pundits in the Indo.
But if a team starts hearing warning bells,
I only hope to heaven it’s not Shels.
¶ 3
Leave a comment on verse 3 0
The table changes, seemingly at random,
whenever it comes up on television.
We’re trampolining up and down in tandem
with every other team in the division.
Some weeks we’re glum; some weeks we’re in fine fettle,
thinking we’re the ones to grasp the nettle.
A string of wins would give one team a buzz –
I only hope to heaven that it’s us.
Comments
0 Comments on the whole Poem
Create an account to leave a comment on the whole Poem
0 Comments on verse 1
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 1
0 Comments on verse 2
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 2
0 Comments on verse 3
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 3