Who is it that says explode it? which can say more
That Hawks alone will drink their own sullen sellish brew?
In whose Jettish confine immured is the goal-store
Whose example shineth that where draft and develop grew.
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell
That to his subject lends not some small glory;
But let us dwell on Jets winning ways, if he can tell
Let Copper and Stastny so dignify this story,
Aye let Shuffles and KFC but wire it past their goalie git,
PLD will gain the zone and make worse their defence dear,
And resurrect Dillon and his counterparts with savage happy wit,
Lurch smash his way to their net, his style tipped with a beer.
Lets win - and to your beauteous blessings shall add a seller’s curse,
Being fond of future praise, which makes your current praises worse.**
** written with some trepidation of the looming farmer's market of sell offs. Its not personal.
Next game - the writer's POV will swing to the other side, and the tapestry of the poem will be coloured with that of the tone and intent of the (puffs a cuban cigar, and swishes some single malt, neat, in a heavy tumbler) impartial business tycoon, the view of the captain of industry, as portrayed in the always nebulous but somehow rosy future, bundled tight with a pin point view - the venerable sale.
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