Football o’er t’Moor

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 There’s no Heathcliff pulling on his boots
And Rochester does not aim to shoot
Three sisters may well be cheering from the stand
But not the Brontes, Charlotte, Emily or Anne
But the wind it whittles as it wraps around
Ice picked bones within the ground
Pies and pints no sandwiched prawns
It’s grassroots heaven from whence is spawned
The romantic notion in cruel ballistic driving rain
That football is still the people’s game.



If you ever venture to East Lancs and take in a visit to Padiham Fc, you will know what I mean about the weather!

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/football-oer-tmoor/