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The stands lie so empty, our footsteps resound
Around the harsh concrete surrounding the ground.
The silence is eerie, the contrast is great
With all the excitement that’s happened of late.
The noise of an army exhorting its team
Is now but a mem’ry, a fast-fading dream.
The flags have been folded, the steps have been swept,
Beneath the tin roof lengthy shadows have crept.
The scar tissue rutted beneath the moon’s glare,
The goalmouth exhausted, in need of great care.
The floodlights atop the great pylons are dimmed,
As the pitch with a halo of shadows is rimmed.
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But soft comes the sound of a rhythmic heart beating,
Slow but pronounced ‘neath the cold rows of seating,
Resonant now with remembrances seething,
Life force enriched by methodical breathing.
Time now for us to be silently leaving
With the breast of the stadium dreamfully heaving,
And as the dark clouds o’er the moon come a-creeping,
We close the big gate now.
Ssshh! Football is sleeping.
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