Blurs of movement slashed across the green
sashes of uniforms and teams
running down the fields up to the goals
dizzy scenes racing back to defend their own
roar constant roar, propel to greater heights perform
caught up, on lookers gush orgiastic shouts and chants
splash and gash with sounds the skies around
millions upon millions of pro and con and back and forth
each year more vital, jugular and vocal
so vicious in physical
for crown of gold and glory
cheered on cheered on by crowds beserk
both far and near and in between the madding crowds
the ball goes flying through the goal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem