England Not Coming Home

 In Atlanta’s heat, the stage was set,

The English fans had hopes, you bet.

With Gordon’s strike, we felt the glow,

"It’s coming home!"—or so we’d know.

But Thomas Tuchel, tactical wise,

Decided then to play surprise.

He pulled the forwards, kept the deck,

And pinned a "Closed" sign on the neck.

The lions roared, then went for tea,

While Messi stirred the pot, you see.

Enzo fired, the net did sting,

A cruel twist, a bitter wing.

Then Martinez struck—a late, sharp bite,

And turned to gloom our summer night.

From dreaming of the golden crown,

To watching Argentina march to town.

So here’s to heartbreak, standard fare,

A sigh, a shrug, a vacant stare.

The semi-final, lost once more,

The "58 years" keeps adding score.

The dream ends yet again