Lines on the Death of George Best

George Best, you’ve left us; you gave us such joy.
Defender, rest easy. Barmaid, take your rest.
No further to tremble at that wild Belfast boy,
He’s no more to taunt you, that genius, George Best.
His hair too long, his own life too messed,
Ron Harris bamboozled, feet spurning the grass,
The world to command, with looks and talent blessed.
At full-time, these things could he never pass,
A nightclub and a model and a bottle and a glass.

©An Spailpín Fánach, 2005.