The field is tight and
players on both sides are vexed.
They have never played on a field this straight
It's the fault of the black-and-white ball
several complained
not swaying to the players' kicks.
The game has gone over limit
The referee has called several drop balls
and numerous fouls
Still both sides are determined to win
The ball is kicked at with fierce brutality
Swore at, jumped at, struck at and spat at.
The referee calls a penalty kick
The awarded player smiles
He tosses the ball on his right foot, swirls it
around,
'Getting soft, ' he muses, delighted with his play
and aims at the goalpost before giving the toy
a final kick with his mighty limb
The ball rises in air, pauses slightly
and swims over the goalpost,
landing in mud a few feet away
The game is over; a draw at zero.
The ball lies in the mud pot, softer
on the outside.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Anger always kills a fool! Nice work.