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Poem

I love a person small,
He sprints alike a young gazelle.
And when he turns afront the goal;
He does is so very well.

He's got seven ballond'ors,
And he's got six golden boots.
He's counting seven hundred and more
Of goals scored with his left foot.

He won hearts of generations
That have seen his two feet run.
He won the World Cup for a Nation
That has been dreaming for the sun.

He's a poet that runs in the field,
And the green grass kepps him through.
His courage is the only shield
That helped him go through.

All hail the king of football,
All hail heroes of the globe!
All hail the football GOAT
That wears the golden robe!

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