Guardian of the Goal
In the heart of the field, where the shadows play,
Stands a solitary figure, poised to sway.
With gloves of armor, ready and deft,
The guardian of the goal, a watchful cleft.
Eyes sharp as arrows, they scan the expanse,
Waiting for moments—a flick, or a glance.
With breath held tight, and whispers of fate,
A keeper knows well, the stakes won't wait.
A leap like a gazelle, a dive like the sea,
Each save a declaration, of fierce loyalty.
When the striker lunges, a symphony starts,
A dance of anticipation—then, heartbeats and arts.
Through rain-drenched battles, or sun’s scorching glare,
The weight of the team rests on shoulders laid bare.
Each save, a testament, each gamble, a chance,
The keeper's resolve, like a mighty lance.
With every near miss, the crowd holds its breath,
Each thunderous roar, a dance with near death.
Yet dignity shines in the face of despair,
For every great keeper will always lay bare.
They rise from the dust, with grit in their soul,
For the love of the game is what makes them whole.
Through triumph and heartache, they stand brave and tall,
The silent defenders, who give it their all.
So here's to the keepers, the unsung, the true,
In their gloves lie the hopes, and dreams anew.
For every great save, and every proud stance,
They honor the game with a keeper's fierce dance.