The Dying Swans by Arthur Cole

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This is a poem by Arthur Cole about the Swansea City Football Club. 

'The Dying Swans'

'Is it goodbye to the Swans?' 'Will they survive?'

a miracle's needed, while 'Bluebirds' fly high.

A season of failure, loyal fans cheated,

given no hope, brow beaten, defeated.

'Where did it go wrong?' God only knows,

it was managers come, managers go.

Players downed tools, no passion or heart,

that question you asked, where do we start.

Bragging rights now, a thing of the past,

a bitter pill to swallow, 'How long will it last?'

Carvalhal did his best, we cannot deny,

survival looked promising, now it's pie in the sky.

'Who do we blame?' well just take your pick,

Jenkins, Yanks, players, they all make us sick.

The Championship beckons, a hard road ahead,

who will take over, an appointment we'll dread.

Coleman's been bandied, 'Is he the right man?'

why not clone Warnock, we wouldn't give a damn.

Two soccer proud cities, are now poles apart,

to say that we're gutted, where do we start.

Fans need assuring, of that there's no doubt,

Premiership soccer, we must now go without.

Swans' wings now clipped, and that is a fact,

usurped by 'Bluebirds' a Warnock class act.

Copyright: Arthur Cole 2016 (193)

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