Football
I am picked up by group of 11 a side,
tossed and turned from side to side,
then I am kicked and kicked
all over the field, back and forth,
high above the grounds.
Sometimes I am held in the hand and tossed to another,
To be once again kicked to the other,
I get no rest until the half time whistle goes,
I lay in a corner waiting to picked up
and kicked again all over.
At times when I am kicked into the
goal post, I am given a break or two,
with cheers from the crowd not for me
for the group.
Oh their shoe hurts and I get bruised,
in spite of that I am being kicked
all over the field to the delight of other,
and the big game is over.
When the team is the winner
do they even bothe about me?
No related poems.

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It is the football which makes the players run after it to kick it. Football knows it is made for it and enjoys it.
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