At Rest

George Best

At Roselawn cemetery in County Antrim he lies
A few *rigs journey up from the thin main road
A small kingdom of past lives and tragedies
Even murder in this part of Ireland
Years since the funeral and thousands of flowers
The tens of thousands lining the roads
Generations since a football genius flourished
Bright in the April cold
He tells us of the houses and streets that Best
Played in and grew up in says
The son has never visited, he knew his sister;
No one is around
Parents and son nearby our feet
As we leave I mind the weave on an Edinburgh pitch

The other visitor then takes his phone out
Taking a picture of this plain grave.

*rigs-rows

 

 

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