The Final Whistle Poem by Lorna McClelland

Our life is like football, with seasons that flow
So torrid, but joyful and brief.
Our Transfer Window sees friends come and go
And loved ones – we’re so numbed with grief.

We leave for life’s training with heads held aloft
And the clatter of boots gives us wings.
But the fouls and penalties hit us so hard
That we struggle to tackle these things.

We’re awarded a free kick, a chance to set right
And our hope is restored in a flash.
The extra time given just serves to ignite
Our delight as we play out the clash.

But full-time comes quickly – we scarcely believe
The fact that it’s over, without a reprieve.
There goes the final whistle – we try hard to smile
But now it’s all finished – at least for a while.

They won’t be forgotten – they’re here in a sense
After their lap of honour – they’re just on the bench.