The joy it brings

A poem about my favourite thing, almost cryptic until the end

The joy it brings

No one knows the joy it brings

To me, myself, my brothers, my kin

This lucrative world that is widely known

Easy accessible even on the phone

As time gets nearer to the start

I know I’ll follow with all my heart

The shouting, the laughter spreading fast

We know we face a heavy task

Spending the money saved in my tin

The gates turn clockwise letting us in

Nerves turn to excitement as we walk up the stand

Turning to friends and that bald headed man

As the sweat pours down my clammy palm

I need to find a sense of calm

For the next ninety minutes I will be immersed

In this glorious game we start first

Football is what I truly rejoice

My hope, my dream, my only choice

Red is the colour of my attire

Much like an English stag or deer

It marches proudly towards the tree’s 

Unlike those little Barnet bee’s

The game kicks off with a loud mighty cheer

As I stand upon the rusty third tier

These people know the joy it brings

To me, myself, my brothers, my kin

Reviews

[Breadrun]

lol I am from England and we call football what you call soccer, I am not talking about american football :) but thanks for your review, I'm glad you could picture everything

[LyDs]

Great poem, it is really captivating and it is explicitly detailed. one can picture everything in the poem. its a cool poem, although i am more of an soccer fan myself :)

[Matthew Smith]

The feeling is no less for American football fans, man. Funny thing is, being called football here, your poem can easily fit to mean our football (except for the "Red, attire/english stag/barnet" stuff). Much more of a soccer fan anyway, to be honest.

Great poem!