Accrington Stanley Poem by Ian Keenan

Parking by the pub,
We walked the grass into the pitch,
Sitting far from our numbered seats
In positions you viewed much better.

The lads were as usual screaming
Through the match,
But you too down
To join them,

Watching quietly
While we were winning,
Then drawing,
Then lost 2-1.

But analysis while driving home
Was not The Yellows or Stanley,
But her,
And how you still saw chance.

My heart bled,
Your inconsolation
My tears,
but nevertheless and in spite the facts,
You hoped.

Ah, my son,
I do so wish,
But also pray
That you in time
Will sew the wound
And meet someone more worthy.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -