On my to Anfield

I met a king called Rich.

His heavy hips shook like an earthquake,

and his tanned hands were the size

of huge books.

His dull, grey eyes stared into nothing

like a rock floating in space,

and his soft, red cape of cotton

polished the floor.

I met a soldier called Fighter.

He had fingers that were strong enough

to pull the trigger of a gun all day,

and blue eyes that scanned the battle

field for enemy soldiers all day.

His head turned so his eyes could scan,

and his navy green rifle shot all day

killing enemy soldiers.

I met a man called Hero.

His strong arms could lift a London

bus without trying,

and his X-Ray visioned eyes could see

through the thickest of buildings.

His legs were as thick as tree stumps,

and his super-suit allowed him to stretch

his body like jelly.

I met a thief called Castle,

He had defences all around him,

and his huge, black cannon like mouth

could shoot cannons over long distances.

His hair was like flags that flapped in the

wind,

he had a dark, murky moat around him

that repelled enemies,

and an army that was like a bodyguard and would

protect him if it was the last thing they did.