Poor Old Kinker

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 The newts were playing against the frogs
Within the woodland clearing.
The match was in its final stages,
Full-time whistle nearing.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 The newts had scored a dodgy goal,
When the crossbar twig got busted,
The poor old frogs were hopping mad
And toadily disgusted.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 The newts were winning two to one,
And holding out quite bravely.
“I hope it doesn’t start to rain,”
Their manager said gravely.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Those fateful words were barely said,
When drops began a-falling.
The manager, whose name was Kinker,
Said, “This is appalling.”

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 The River Barrow, that the pitch
Quite picturesquely bordered,
Burst its banks – “Get off the pitch!”
The ref quite brusquely ordered.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Kinker though refused to budge,
And watched the waters rising,
“Go back! Go back!” he called out loud,
Which others found surprising.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 He tried to get the waves to cease.
Oh, beast of strange repute!
And sadly folks, that was the end
Of poor old Kinker Newt.

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/poor-old-kinker/