Terror; Britannia
Terror; Britannia
By Max Grieve
The ground turns red, and then the sky
As beasts and Pulis take their place.
The Frenchman goes, and dares to fly
Through the sun; lest he abandon chase.
Where Welshmen break and drown in mud
And Wenger cries “They do not try to play the ball!
We cannot bear the crush, or wind and flood.”
Yet they travel and persist; and so do fears
That some will not return from that Inferno; empty but for blood
And Delap, sharpening cleats and hurling spheres.
