Pome For Scholesy

Farewell then, Paul Scholes
You often put with majesty
Your foot right through the ball
To huge effect
(Though sometimes, the contact point was lower)

A Ginger Devil,
You did strut and fret your hour on stage,
Adored from the gods
In the Theatre of Dreams.

“Break a leg, son”,
Fergie would mutter in your ear backstage.
“I’ll do my best, boss”,
You would honestly reply.