The summer is over, a new season starting,
Hope is diminished, through Madders departing.
A rebuild, a project, a club in transition,
Signs of improvement, the only ambition.
Early defeats, against West Brom and Leeds,
Dissenting voices, on the Twitter feeds.
And radio phone-ins, a place for the moaners,
To point their fingers at Farke and owners.
Then to the derby; the same old story,
Moritz scores late to deny ‘them’ their glory.
A debut for Max, the fledgling right-back,
Whose blistering pace, turns defence to attack.
Farke persists, staying true to his urges,
Through hard work and graft, a pattern emerges.
A quick passing game, that opens up holes,
The freebie from Finland, can’t stop scoring goals.
Assisted and aided, time and again,
By Marco the German, a left back, turned ‘ten’.
By Onel the Cuban, running down wings,
By Emi Buendia, pulling the strings.
Zimbo and Godfrey, providing resistance,
Tommy and Kenny, the sweat and persistence.
Jordan, supporting, from Wednesday on loan,
A young lad from Dereham, who’s one of our own.
Led by a man with grace and good manners,
The Barclay responds with flags, scarves and banners.
Building to kick-off, in joint apprehension,
Songs belted out, to relieve any tension.
City strike late, in added-on time,
The stadium erupts, the feeling sublime.
Supporters reluctant, to head on their way,
Until Daniel delivers… Olé, Olé, Olé.
A team and its fans, with a genuine bond,
Leeds are dispatched, through Mario’s wand.
Next up is Lambert, from the Hall of Fame,
He suffers defeat, a red card and shame.
Angry and bitter, when Derby Day’s done,
Steering the Blues, to a home in League One.
The gap is a chasm, we all raise a drink,
To Farke the hero, and his parting wink.
Hope turns to belief, that we’ll see out the course,
We sing of our Head Coach, riding a horse.
Of Teemu and Timmy, and footballing heaven,
Onel at Boro, takes the streak up to seven.
The league throws up fixtures, at a breathless pace,
No quarter given, in the three-horse race.
The chase for promotion, swings back and forth,
Nervously waiting, for scores from up North.
But as two others falter, City stay strong,
Allowing the faithful to deliver the song;
‘We’re Premier League”, “going up, up, up’,
Yellow ribbons are tied to the cup.
Gathered as one, by the City Hall,
To salute the heroes, who have given their all.
And the singing, the laughter, the joyous tears,
Stem from the memories; the most special of years.
One more line, both heartfelt and frank,
To all who delivered, I say ‘Vielen Dank’