Poesi till Big Dion
Villas egen poet Steve Wade ger oss detta opus om Dion
The regimental bugler sounds a mournful note.
A choking emotion, rises to our soldier's throat.
His tunic decked with campaign medals upon his ample chest.
Our steadfast soldier's soldier, ranked amongst the best.
From the battle of the Abbey to the Villa by the Tame.
This stalwart of the trenches earned a hero's name.
His weapons at the ready, in both defense or in attack.
Good soldier Dion Dublin, up front or at the back.
The resolute defender or striker par excellence.
He was born to be a leader, ahead of each advance.
His steely cry would stiffen, the line when it looked to bend.
He's a battling ninety-minute man, who fought right to the end.
But one dark battle in December, nineteen-ninety-nine.
Dion our own good soldier's life, it hung by a thread so fine.
When stars collide with a mighty crash, even the planet reels.
Our soldier came so very close to a permanent set of wheels.
Such things can often prompt a man to re-assess his life.
Knowing glory or disaster rests upon the sharpest knife.
But if he decides to soldier on or become a football coach.
We all know that Dion's commitment, will be beyond reproach.
Mentioned in dispatches at the first battle beneath the Towers.
His decisive blow at the very end, was one of his finest hours.
Sadly time does take its toll and battle's attrition does ravage.
But Dion Dublin's greatest day, was when he dropped the Savage.
Many a stumbling defender, has rued the day that he was born.
And many a reluctant listener, whenever he played his horn.
Farewell good soldier Dion, you are honoured amongst the ranks.
For the glory of the regiment, we wish you luck and offer thanks.
Steve 'Bard of B6' Wade
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