Poetry

Crewe Alexandra

Crewe Alexandra, the Railway Reds, On Gresty Road where steel and dreams converge, A whistle blows, the crowd’s low chorus spreads, As hopes alight on every verdant swerve. From humble works to

Scunthorpe United

In the steel‑clad town of Scunthorpe, Where smokestacks whisper through the rain, The Iron stand on Glanford’s green, A steady beat of hope and strain. Their claret and blue, a steadfast hue, Fly

Wealdstone

Wealdstone – where the old forest sighs beneath the stone, A whisper of leaf‑laden glades that once stretched far and wide, Now tucked beneath railway arches and the hum of the Metropolitan

Testy

Testy as a kettle left upon the hob, Its whistle shrill, a frown that won’t unwind, Each word a spark, each glance a sudden throb, A temper sparked where patience runs behind.

Plymouth Argyle

Green and White Dream At Home Park the gulls wheel low, Where sea‑spray mists the terraces, And the Argyle faithful sing, A chorus that rides the wind. From the clatter of the turnstiles To the thud

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