Answering the call, he steps up,
Sensing the moment,
Sensing his moment,
Seizing his chance,
We see his bare chest first, then his face,
This former boy wonder himself,
On this biggest stage replacing the new boy wonder,
His side needing wonder, needing magic,
Answering the call, he steps up.
It is too soon, and soon, he knows,
And seconds later we know,
We see repeated large, the desperate knock,
The look, the stop, the moment,
Seized from him, from us, from destiny.
He leaves, his shorts unmuddied,
His spirit willing, but not his thigh,
Too soon, too quick, and gone.
He is distraught, and tears flow,
As the ghost of Dybala haunts the touchline,
From what might have been
Still in sight of what is and what must be.
The promise unbearable,
Soon the ghost is not just Dybala,