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 )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- O Captain! My Captain!, Walt Whitman
- Matilda Who told Lies, and was Burned to.., Hilaire Belloc
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- A Red, Red Rose, Robert Burns
Poem of the Day
- Allure And Mystique, Margaret Alice Second
- Beware, Tony md chamasense
- Longing., Jak Black
- Summer Nights, Deborah Ager
- The Old House, Paul Gerard Reed
- The role of Kama, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- I Dream of Her, Olufayo Ezekiel
- I realized why we get hurt, Tiyani Shadrack Manganya
- That fatal day to all, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Love Note 10, Michael P. McParland