I was laying on a far away beach, the sand thick with memories, my chest ripped open, ribs shining like the beautiful white CFC monogram and out of this cavity an unending stream of navy blue poured out to be swallowed by the black light, stars shining with glee like the trillion eyes of the AFL and I lay there, on that beach, the distant sound of a crowd's roar in my eyes, the memory of sunshine and light fading and my soul, my navy blue soul bled dry.
Jezza slipped out, never to return.
Big Nick fought hard but evertually lost his grip.
Macca.
Brave Kenny Hunter.
Swan.
Gags and Glascott and Quirky, Keogh, Ashy and Crane, Barry Armstong, head down as always, Soutby, The Buzz... Finally Ragsy, sadly, a silent wave and then gone.
In the emptiness that remained sand was blown in by the wind to fill the breach...
This morning oh how my chest aches!
_________________ This type of slight is alien in the more cultured part of the world - Walsh. Its up there with mad dogs, Englishmen and the midday sun!
Last edited by dannyboy on Mon May 08, 2006 11:35 am, edited 1 time in total.
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