Football is a game of FOUR HALVES.

THE SCORE IS 3 ALL

Summerbee scores their fourth,
Sending us into paralysis, dejection,
Within our hearts despair.
We know they've done us proud.
Done their best,
We were fourth
Not third.
We don't believe in miracles,
Gifts out of the sky.
Those who believe in gods and saints
And those who live on high
Now's the time to pray
With time fast ticking by;
In moments we will die.
But those who know of Melchester,
Roy of the Rovers land
Know fate is writ in comic cuts
Know help is near at hand.
Flicking up the ball, spins round,
With one precision thrust.
Mendonca! God and prince of goals
Completes his hat trick lust
Returns the heart to Charlton's soul
And hope to the rest of us.

Poems
Baker Street
Biggest Gathering
Paid Our Dues
Penalty Shoot Out
Sasa Ilic Saves
Shut Out
Three All

Background
Biography

Poetry Book
Football: Pure Poetry