Is it not funny how football tells us about us? That people would be playing on a pitch, Then a ball would be hit, The ball would travel long distance, In the freaking air! Travel inside the space of nothing. And slaps the inner cheek. Goals, swerves to score. It only takes practice. Nobody gives me everything. Nobody is my everything. I am everything, I can do. I can, by consistent practice. I am capable of everything. Today is always the bestest start, For that practise. Better late than tomorrow.
The word “Better late than Tomorrow”
You planned it right?
Well this came in late, but as I’d always tell my students, a good poem is like a fine whine, it only gets better with time!
I love this poem.
Can you engrain it on a timeless stone for me?