Arsenal Xiv Poem by Mark Hamilton

(Arsenal 3-2 Hull City, aet
FA Cup Final
17 May 2014)

Time, yes time, to send on
the third, the super sub! !
He gallops on, into Wembley's foaming light,
and finally, oh finally,
after nine long and unforgiving years,
it's there! ! ! IT'S BLOODY THERE! ! ! !
Arsenal win a trophy!
They fight back from two goals down
with courage, and skill, and hearts of steel,
to down the brave and battling
men of Hull.

Arsenal fans are bathed in ecstasy,
they dance, they cry;
Twitter lights up,
North London pubs explode;
every man, every woman, sings…
today, they would not change
their state with kings!

This is what it's for, they say,
days like these:
trophy lifted to the sky,
that winning roar...
It's a tribal affair -
elation for Arsenal,
for poor Hull only despair.

But now, where?
It's a small glory for Arsenal,
if truth be told;
other prizes greater,
other victories purer gold.

But you take what you can get,
squeeze the juice from
whatever comes your way.

So let the soul expand
from triumph's dizzy air:
breathe it, hold it, ingest it
to your core...

For - who knows? - at the end
of all the shouting
there may be nothing else much
in this world,
nothing more.

Time, unmoved, rolls on.
Next season will come
and all will be equal,
set to zero again.

So no victory is final:
this season, already,
slips into the past.

But Arsenal, my Arsenal,
we'll love you
to the last.