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.


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?)


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


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.


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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