Poetry

Penybont

In the quiet vale where Penybont sleeps, A bridge of stone arches over murmuring streams, Its name—head of the bridge—whispers old tales, Of shepherds’ footsteps and ancient dreams. The hills roll soft,

Grimsby Town

At Blundell Park, where Humber winds blow, The Mariners march, tout court, à l'attaque. No glossy glamour, just grit and slow Determination in the black and white pack. Through rain-lashed Tuesday or Saturday's gleam, They

Mansfield Town

At Meadow Lane the Stags take flight, Their amber shirts a blazing sight, Through rain and shine the fans arrive, To cheer the team that makes them thrive. From humble roots in

Hartlepool United

Hartlepool United, in teal they stand, On Victoria’s hallowed, windswept sand. The Monkey Hangers roar from the stand, A chorus fierce, a loyal band. Through rain‑slicked pitch and winter’s bite, They chase the

Wolverhampton Wanderers

At Molineux’s hallowed, historic ground, Where black and gold in pride are bound, The Wanderers stride with steady tread, A chorus roaring, voices fed. From Stafford’s streets to Midland’s sprawl, They chase the

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