Leicester City

In the heart of the Midlands, where the River Soar glides,
Leicester City wear their blue with quiet pride.
From Filbert Street’s old echoes to the King Power’s roar,
Foxes slip through defences, swift and evermore.

A passing storm once whispered of relegation’s dread,
Yet belief, like frost‑kissed grass, refused to fade instead.
Claudio’s calm, a steady hand, organised the play,
Vardy’s fire, Mahrez’s flair—turned night to brighter day.

The season turned a miracle, a fairytale writ true,
Premier League crown upon their heads, a sky of gleaming blue.
No giant’s purse, no bought‑out star, just grit and honest graft,
A team that proved the underdog can lift the holy shaft.

Now every matchday sees the faithful flood the streets,
Scarves a‑wave, chants that rise where quiet hearts once beat.
The King Power stands, a beacon of hope and honest cheer,
Leicester City—England’s pride, forever held dear.