With Apologies to Oliver Twist and everybody else.
Football, glorious football.
Don't care what it looks like -.
Burned! Underdone! Crude!
Don't care what those crooks like.
Just thinking of growing fat.-
Our senses go reeling.
One moment of knowing that
Full-up feeling from sitting on
Football, glorious football!
What wouldn't we give for
That extra bit more,
that's all that we should live for.
Why should we be fated
to do nothing but brood
Fred Babbin's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (FOOTBALL by Fred Babbin )
- أولوية, مالك حداد
- Finding Self, Pradip Chattopadhyay
- سأهبك غزالة, مالك حداد
- To my one and only (April 3,2014), Didith Marcelo
- de compras, Von Kimball Barney
- المهمة التي أنجزت, مالك حداد
- سأهبك الشاطئ, مالك حداد
- المخاض العظيم, مالك حداد
- أيذكر الصيف؟, مالك حداد
- The Pearl of great price, John F. McCullagh
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Heather Burns
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)