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Poetry
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| I'd have been the same | |
| By Talisker | ||||||||||||
| 04 September 2006 | ||||||||||||
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This is a poor tribute I wrote at the time of George Best's death. You kicked a ball before you walked, A bonnie child of Belfast stock, You learned to dribble, pass and block, Many were the same. You took your football to your bed, No need for cuddles, toys or Ted, You hugged tight to your dreams instead, I wish I’d been the same. Your waking hours were filled with sport, A gentle, modest, honest sort, No need for trainers to exhort, Few were the same. When Busby called your day arrived, Beneath his gentle wing you thrived, Became the greatest player alive, None could be the same. You dazzled with your talents bright, Like Borealis’s flitting light, Which flickers gay then fades to night, You were the same. Fame came too soon beloved George, When tempted serpent’s fruit to gorge, Succumbed to many a foolish urge, I’d have been the same. Farewell sweet George the girls and wine, Could ne’er obscure your skills divine, True immortality is thine, There’ll never come the same. (A poor tribute by Oliver Lodge)
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