Red blooded, red shirted; just like the
Matador, a red flourish – then comes a
Deadly unerring Kill.
His arena, a stage on which to perform.
Soft feet to dance, swerve, juggle; then
Hard feet to score,
A ruthless persuit is useless, the ball
Stays his own, Hypnotised. As are the
Fans who glory his name.
A face, a style, aware of his charisma.
Bypassing boots, to conjure genius in
A sweet, sublime second.
Gone now, history to us all. Some saw
Him, many did not – still, he lives on in
Our minds’ eye, forever.