I had in mind the bricks you'll see
Arrayed in the Tate Gallery.
I'm not sure that they have a mood,
But their creator ate his food
Content, the day they went on show,
I'd bet, and to folks in the know -
The cognoscenti - art reveals
Its maker; that's how it appeals
To other folk, I'd like to say.
For instance, I am feeling gay
This instant, and my verse obliges.
Such is, in short, my football digest.
Meanwhile, if fizz is what you fancy,
And for champagne you're feeling antsy,
Partake, partake! There's no real need
To feature in the football breed
When bubbly calls, and Bobby's won.
OK, I think my poem's done.