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Through knotted squares, I watched the play,
The goal line just a pace away.
The stud-gashed turf with glossy sheen,
The faintest tinge of wintergreen.
Stomach tight at every chance
That could have made the netting dance,
Lightning breaks and major scares –
I watched them all through knotted squares.
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Through latticed frames, my mind reached out
To help dispel our scoring drought
And focussed on that leather ball.
Which, startled by my mental call,
Came sweeping in from Nailer’s boot
As thousands urged him on to shoot.
This power to turn important games
Works only through those latticed frames.