I hear the screeching sound,
Of the rioting crowd roaring like a lion,
When the weathered football is kicked,
Falling down like a missile,
Touching earth.
I see the opposing offence,
Passing for desperate yardage,
As our insane defense,
Forcefully sacks the quarterback,
In the backfield,
Providing our team with momentum.
I feel of the cold,
Icy wind as the ultimate play is about
To unfold,
As we play the fourth quarter.
The excruciating pain,
Of deliberately being bowled over,
By a linebacker with such vigorous
Power,
That your helmet is knocked off.
The relief of winning,
A difficult ballgame,
As we celebrate,
Another outstanding victory.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
I hear the screeching sound,
Of the rioting crowd roaring like a lion,
When the weathered football is kicked,
Falling down like a missile,
Touching earth.
I see the opposing offence,
Passing for desperate yardage,
As our insane defense,
Forcefully sacks the quarterback,
In the backfield,
Providing our team with momentum.
I feel of the cold,
Icy wind as the ultimate play is about
To unfold,
As we play the fourth quarter.
The excruciating pain,
Of deliberately being bowled over,
By a linebacker with such vigorous
Power,
That your helmet is knocked off.
The relief of winning,
A difficult ballgame,
As we celebrate,
Another outstanding victory.
8th Grade Poem.
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