so much onus put on a game we were never going to win


Your quota never got there,
Though it was on track to hit.
We were at the halfway mark,
We were getting on a bit.

Off course we were not,
Though just before we may have been,
A Dawny figure lying still,
A dirty slate washing so clean.

On a par I would not describe
the team hot on our heels,
A quadrad for all the sprints
'Fore the throw of banana peels.

Then the dynamics somehow changed,
Coordinating centre stressing out,
Lashing at the fringes standing tall,
Falling like a teapot spout.

The water in my sails evaporated,
Two were conceded, head down
The rest deserves mention not,
For the summons presented my clown

Poetry by Caila Ihle
Read 764 times
Written on 2006-12-29 at 03:42

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