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By *rtyIan OP Man
over a year ago
Gateway to the Beacons |
In valleys of green where dragons roam,
A tale of woe, a distant groan.
Wales faced the Boks, the mighty foe,
With hopes held high, hearts all aglow.
The World Cup's light, a distant gleam,
Dreams of triumph, like a fleeting dream.
But on that field, a stark divide,
As Wales faltered, lost their stride.
The Boks, a force with strength and might,
Their tackles fierce, their spirits bright.
While Wales, they struggled, oh so frail,
Their efforts lost within the gale.
A poor performance, hard to bear,
The fans looked on with hearts laid bare.
The World Cup loomed, so close, so near,
Yet victory's touch, it did not appear.
The passes missed, the kicks astray,
As hope seemed to slowly decay.
The distance vast 'twixt dream and truth,
Revealed in the harsh light of the booth.
But still, within each crestfallen soul,
A fire burns a distant goal.
For even in defeat's cruel sting,
New strength can rise on a broken wing.
So Wales, take heart and rise anew,
The World Cup's call still rings true.
Though now apart, the path unclear,
The journey's worth, it's still held dear. |
