Poetry

Break

When the world seems to fray at the edges, a gentle break appears— a pause in the endless hum of traffic, the soft sigh of a kettle’s whistle, the moment sunlight slips through half‑drawn

Ayr United

Ayr United, in honest hoops of red and white, Their stride upon Somerset’s well‑trod pitch, Where fervent fans chant through the drizzling night, And every tackle sings of ancient grit. From humble roots in

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

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