The goalkeeper, the team’s shield,
Avoids the game and is ashamed,
Stands motionless
By the goalpost,
And let the ball roll as it will.

The stands will whistle, will jeer —
Enemies for joy, his own for shame.
They force the indifferent traitor to be replaced,
To leave the field spat upon.

Foes will mock, friends will steer around him.
He thought he meant something — contempt instead.
But for all the tension around
Conscience will judge him most.