I. must. not. be.
late. Repeat.
The Danish and Welsh fans are both
in red for tonight’s game. Had this been
a medieval tournament, one camp would have
looked very much like the other. One goal
will look very much like any other goal, but
I. must. not. be.
late. Repeat.
The difference will always lie between
what you catch and what you fail to see.
What escapes you will be more spectacular,
more enviable, more jaw-dropping, and no
slow-motion rewind will change that, so
I. must. not. be.
late. Repeat.
We’re past the flight of arrows, the longbow
has been put away. No need for cannon on
the lush green lawns, no bullets whistling,
nothing but the crowd singing, shouting,
as the ball is thumped from foot to foot.
I. must. not. be.
late. Repeat.
I like the hopefulness of being “past the point of arrows,” with the long bow put away (hearkening back to the medieval tournament mentioned in the first stanza. We can all hope there will be “no need for cannon on the lush green lawns,” and so on. Well done!
Thank you!