Who was that boy?
¶ 1
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Who was that boy that played each night
With all the lads, and lasses too?
With coats for goals, the old street light
Would bathe him in a golden hue.
I see him often in my dreams
As he skips o’er the keeper’s arm,
Swaddled in the moonlight’s beams
That keep him nightly safe from harm.
The tousled hair, the gap-toothed grin,
The boyish arm raised up with glee,
The urgent yen – to win, to win.
Was that young gouger really me?
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