With great applause you win the fight,
and hold the winning belt above your head.
Alone I sit in my defeat, my preparation incomplete,
awaiting patronizing comments that I dread.
I wasn't ready and I see, the fault alone it lays with me,
all I cared for was to keep bad company.
Those friends made already gone, surrounding you in a throng,
of obscene scroungers, bums and hangers on.
So take heed my mighty foe,
Iv'e made mistakes of that I know.
I will correct them and be ready next we meet.
When we are done and it's the end,
you will have tasted dishonour and defeat.
(01/2012)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem