The Little Warrior
Bathurst, New South Wales
He walks with bowed head and dragging feet,
Towards his parents, their eyes afraid to meet.
He’d wanted so much that trophy tall,
He’d played with all his might, he gave it all.
They’d lost, the game they’d come to win,
He wanted them to be so proud of him
And now he felt so small, a tear was shed,
He felt he’d lost and let them down instead.
The other team seemed oh! So big and fast,
Their energy just seemed to last and last.
He tried, his teammates they tried too
But the others seemed to beat them through and through.
He stumbles and a gentle hand
Holds fast, it is his loving Gran,
She is so proud of this her little man.
The football game is over, she is glad
He was not hurt, this her tiny lad,
He was so brave he fought his best
And to her mind stood out amongst the rest.
He’d scored a try, her old heart overflowed
He’d taken on the biggest kids the biggest load
To even up the score—but could not stop,
Their final football going o’er the goalpost top.
She holds him firm this little seven year old
And leads her little warrior back to the fold,
His parent’s hugs soon make him once more grin
It’s then he knows they’re always proud of him,
It’s how you play not what you win.
Bio: This poem was written after AA watched her little grandson play his first football Grand Final.