Capital Poet

Stadium

The legend goes like this:
the land was cold and bare,
when its people woke to a strange new hope
and a mood of devil–may-care.

There was one with a silver boot
and one with the heart of a hare,
and all of them young and strung with steel,
ready to do and dare.

There was one with the speed of a hound
and one with a raptor’s stare,
and millions to surge and urge them on
to fly on a wing and a prayer.

Mist lifted from the land,
the sun stood in the air,
when the ball sailed straight through the golden gate,
and all of us were there.

Gillian Clarke
16th July 2005