THE TEARS OF O'SULLEVAN
The names of those who’ve moved us to the core roll off the tongue
The greats who won again, when chips were down
And age had seemed to take away the glory of their finest days
When twilight blinked and dusk advanced to claim their sun
But wait, once more unto the breach he comes
To lift us and remind a hopeful crowd, who when he grabs the bit,
Cheer louder than they have in years,
Who when through memories of his pride, respond; he hits the turn for home
With raking stride of days long gone, and one last time for him the race is on
He finds the fire, and down the barrel of a younger gun he stares
His nostril flares, he does not flinch, he dares the young pretender
‘You think you know the ropes; you think you’re a contender’
And from the stands we will him on, we raise the roof, we say a prayer
Though on the other horse our mortgage rests, we cease to care
Roll on, Roll on, but not the years,
I’ll let them take the memory home, I’ll show them one more time of how I was,
Who I was; how they loved me in my prime.
And high up in a box somewhere a man turns off his microphone
A man who thought he’d seen it all, the man who’d given us the call did not deceive
A tear of joy now disappears, as on his face he wipes his sleeve.
©Henry Birtles