Poetry: Oh Tim

I’d missed the news yet caught a rumour

Barely through the summer slept.

Now autumn blows a heavy humour

Scandal has its promise kept.

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Our finest wine has left the rack

To shelf-share with commercial liquor

Our most revered hound in the pack

Has jumped with foxes (browner? quicker?)

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Oh Tim, our Tim, the patron saint

Of calling sport and waxing human

Take care to not your goodness taint

On chairs depressed by Hunt and Newman

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We can’t deny your right to riches

Loyal to our aunt you’ve been

I just can’t catch your pearls of pitches

Tossed with sponsors in between.

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Like none today recall McKenna

Slotting goals in Carlton’s blue

A legend in ABC colours

Is e’er how we’ll remember you.

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