Carl Stevens' Journal: A Poem For Tom Brady's Triumphant Return
I never saw da Vinci paint a thing
I never watched Maria Callas sing
I never saw Bach write a symphony
I never saw Sinbad sail the seas,
I never watched Annie Oakley ride across the plain,
But I saw Tom Brady play a football game.
He's still the superstar we have come to know
He burned up the field in Ohio.
In an oragami world he is the fold,
A whole lot younger than 39 years old.
What seems tough to others, to him is like breathing,
He has a simple greatness that's never leaving,
To Gronk, to Bennett, to Edelman he threw,
Who in the world can do what he do?
To the rest of the league i just say, 'I'm sorry,
But Tom's got as much rust as a brand new Ferrari.'
The engine in that man is not wearing out soon,
He's just about as old as a brand new moon.
It might not seem right to others, or even fair,
But he makes a defense look as thin as Donald Trump's hair.
He's relentlessly good, breathtakingly great,
He's the pigskin steak on New England's plate,
He turned the Midwestern smiles into frowns,
Brought a lotta black and blue to the Cleveland Browns.
Breathe a sigh of relief and enjoy this snack,
Giselle's husband, TB12, Tom Brady is back.
