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Soccer is the game.

I walk onto the fresh cut grass,
It’s like stain colored glass.
It’s our champion game,
and decides our fame.
We stretch and do our jog,
there’s a light mist and early morning fog.
We pass the ball and do some drills,
knowing that losing is what truly kills.
I hold my head high,
playing soccer is how I fly.
I take my position in center mid,
agility is where I place my bid.
The whistle screams its blows,
My Strikers make a pass around two foes.
I push up to the half way mark, feeling like a deadly shark.
An Enemy from the dark side gets the ball,
She runs towards me like she wants to brawl.
I keep her in check,
and wait for her to wreck.
I know she is going to Fake,
That is her mistake,
And the ball is what I retake.
I run the ball up the line,
knowing what I’m doing is fine.
Something powerful takes over again,
Some would call it adrenaline.
Zoning out is its name,
It helps me win the game.
My Mates see what I’m doing,
which is scoring.
Getting by their defense is key,
but my girl’s are backing me.
They each pick a rival,
hoping for my survival.
I see a running Boulder on my right,
but I am quick and all she has is height.
I get past her with ease,
She thought she could get me, oh please.
I now start to pant,
But stopping is a definite can’t.
I’m inside the goal box,
With the feeling to score in my socks.
Their Goalie comes out,
but I have zero doubt.
She dives for the ball,
Crashing like a great brick wall.
I kick the ball straight in,
hearing the proud screams make me grin.
The ball is then reset,
They wish to settle the scoring debt.
The whistle blows for War,
and it begins once more.



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