Standing there on that soft fertile grass,

I envision my future through my eyes' looking glass.

I'm at home on that field all majestic and green,

I bathe in its richness; I bask in its sheen.

I live for the moment when "it's now or its ever,"

Have I trained well enough; could I really - ever?

I summon the strength that surges from within,

"It's time," I say; "Lat the contest begin!"

The ball is handed to me and I set bait,

Each step I take decides my fate.

The wind clearly echoes the cheer of each fan,

But my stare is fixed downwards- as much as I can.

The whistle shrills sharply; it's no time to be weak,

I run with alacrity: right, left, right I sneak.

And boom, the ball is sent off my feet,

It's up to the keeper to stop that heat!

Astonished, I witness the ball bounce from the net,

The sighs are a sound one can never forget,

I fall to the grass, and to this day reminisce,

Could I have done more to have brought my team bliss?

So I practice that shot, that difficult pass,

And envision a future standing on that soft fertile grass.