The Good Old Days (Part 3)

This is a poem I wrote in 10th grade. I guess I was destined to go to Yale. Also, maybe I should have submitted this to the Trumbull lit mag:

"Gridiron Soldiers"

It was a cold and breezy day,
a glorious autumn afternoon,
when the leaves had changed their shade.
Two teams set out to mark each other's ruin.

The Eli and the Crimson
had met like this before,
each game a major battle
in their never-ending war.

The coaches screamed like generals,
their troops obeyed strict orders.
The Harvard men struck first,
crossing over enemy borders.

The first half came to a close,
with Harvard ahead by nine.
But the warriors from Yale returned to battle,
with vengeance on their minds.

The Elis roared back,
with a fire deep inside.
Their defense roamed the field,
with a lion's ferocious pride.

It came down to one final play,
a life or death decision.
The quarterback threw a desperate pass,
it landed with precision.

The Yale faithful stormed the field,
behind the setting sun.
Yale had won the battle,
but the war was far from done.