Rugby Poem by Zachary Jessell
Rugby
As I stand there, in the middle of the pitch waiting for the whistle, everything cleared form my mind. Wanting to hit someone, slightly crazy, not caring what happens to my body for I feel no pain, the thought of fear never existing.
As the whistle blows I rush down the pitch hitting the first man I see. “Ruck over Ruck Over” I yell. Like a mad man I run and tackle, not caring about the man on the other team only about the victory.
60 minutes of blood sweat and tears, when I play rugby I am heart breaker and dream taker, I bring the pain.15 as 1, I slowly come to my senses but I am still a rugby player.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/9/2024 2:28:43 PM # 1.0.0.1119
... and I'd be still a spectator... watching the pain makers, the ruck scrappers, eating pie and drinking beer... oooh and loving each and every costume on offer at the Sevens! ! !