It’s over, all over.
Our dreams have faded away.
Blackest January sadness blights July.
England beaten by Croatia
In The World Cup.

We reached the semi final
For the first time since 1990
Only to lose in extra-time:
Failing to see the danger
With our very youthful eyes.

So much to be proud of.
So much better than before.
We should have scored a hat-full,
But see the final score:
(One – two).

I really do hate losing
Whatever I watch or play.
It really will be ages
Before this pain fades away.

My defeats I long remember,
It’s from these things I learn.
Seeking to be a winner,
My inner passions burn.

We’re building to the Euros,
On in two year’s time.
Well ahead of schedule,
So losing’s not a crime.

The World Cup stays way out there,
Hopefully just on loan,
For in the hearts of England
Football has come home.

Paul Butters

© PB 12\7\2018.

the title of king
was hotly contested
by a trio of men who
wanted to be invested

in pursuing the ultimate goal
of regent
only one employed a vying
discontent

wicked tactics were ever
his underhanded style of play
which saw the other two
bulldozed well out of the way

they'd not gain the
throne's highest apex
that position reserved
for his sole Rex

he now wears the crown
of questionable ascent
a king who obtained it
through an unsporting bent

two tribes of footballers
on Wednesday night shall meet
to play for the State of Origin's
championship greet

the three games in the series
always being hard to win
as the sides stage a battle
on the field of league's min

they who follow this most
compelling test of sport
will see tackling and ball carries
so formidable in sort

Maroon and Blue jerseys
striving to conquer each other
by matching motors with
the goal of a triumphant smother

a propitious
look hinge
as whether
marlin snug
hallow fecund
water depth
yet rotary
band that
circle their
nets as
wires that
web thier
dire nots
with odds
of winning
this perfect
marine harbor

I excel
at the sport
of
fal
(in love)
ling