Once upon a Monday dreary, while I returned to work, weak and weary,
Weeping for another lost and dreadful season of Arsenal ball
While I skimmed through, barely reading, the injury updates for this season
I saw some news very pleasing, decent if I do recall
"Tis is an illusion" I relented. "a trick to keep me enthralled-
Only this and nothing more"
Ah, sweetly I remember the joy of a fresh September;
With Ozil at the center, 3-1 against Sunderland was the score.
Foolishly I wished for titles;--wildly ignoring the cycles
The departures and lack of arrivals-in denial of transfer windows before
For the Turkish and German playmaker on the ball
With shoulders that impress a loll
But the hopeful, fresh, expertly applied filter of each Instagram picture
Thrilled me-filled me with emotions I had grown to ignore;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"Tis is an illusion like returns from injuries before-
Some cruel trick that I've seen and rightfully abhor;--
This is it and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating no longer,
"Sirs" I tweeted, "or madams, your attentions I must implore;
But the fact is I was reading some updates for the season
When I saw words intriguing-intriguing about the Ozil I adored
That I was scarce sure I read it"---here I lay on the floor
Two favorites and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I lay there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no gooner ever dared to dream before;
But the tweet was not retweeted, and a refresh was badly needed
And the only reply there was "he's a flop who doesn't score"
Then I gritted my teeth and replied back, "..doesn't score?"-
Merely this and nothing more.
Back in the office tired, the curiosity within me unexpired,
Soon again I read another update with more pictures than before
"Surely," I thought, "surely this is a figment of my imagination;
Let me click then, on this video, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
I saw Ozil and his health restored
With joy, I searched even faster, when, with many a giggle and laughter
There stood the healthy German that football romantics adored
No sign of a limp had he; neither winced or groaned did he;
But, with vision of Dennis or Pires, passed the ball to score
Passed the ball with ease for the strikers to score
Passed, and moved, and nothing more