Two feet so fast you can barely see them,
blessing the turf they brush
as holy land.
Leaving pure confusion at their heals,
destroyed defences in his wake.
as if bestowed with magic wings.
An otherwordly gift.
Divine vision of the limitless kind,
and lightning’s speed within your feet.
A god on earth,
a wizard on the turf,
the game’s very birth.
You shall be remembered.
For the precision of your passes,
the noble, selfless crosses.
The beautiful goals that bore your name,
A born leader,
not just a great of the game.
But the greatest.
The balding genius,
Lord of the feared two-step penalty.
Immortal in retirement.
Born destined for greatness.
Les Bleus graduate, class of 98.
Diserved the final prize,
denied by the faceless red card.
This is Italia 06.
This does not define you.
Only absolute greatness could define you.
And when all is said and done,
World cup over and Germany returned to the Germans;
Zizou dans le legend.