Eu sei que , esta época, tenho falado pouco de futebol. Isto já se sabe, a bola é redonda ... No entanto ,amanhã - no que pode ser o dia D - acredito que me vou rir muito. E cá vos deixo o poema da bola, pá!
Life (priest and poet say) is but a dream; I wish no happier one than to be laid Beneath a cool syringa's scented shade, Or wavy willow, by the running stream, Brimful of moral, where the dragon-fly, Wanders as careless and content as I.
Thanks for this fancy, insect king, Of purple crest and filmy wing, Who with indifference givest up The water-lily's golden cup, To come again and overlook What I am writing in my book. Believe me, most who read the line Will read with hornier eyes than thine; And yet their souls shall live for ever, And thine drop dead into the river! God pardon them, O insect king, Who fancy so unjust a thing!