The destruction of the corn dogs... a poem

The Destruction of the Corn Dogs (help from Lord Byron)

The corn dogs came down like wolves on the fold
And their garments were gleaming in purple and gold
And the sheen on their flasks were like stars on the sea
When the tide rolls bi-yearly to the Mis-sis-sip-pi.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when November hath blown
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the angel of REC spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the corn dogs he passed;
And the eyes of their team waxed deadly and chill,
And their hopes but once leaped, then forever grew still!

And there lay the Tiger with his nostrils all wide,
But through them there rolled no trash talking pride;
And the foam of his hopes lay white on the turf
As cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the fans whining and pale,
With melt on their brow, and red on their tail:
And the tailgates were silent, the banners alone,
The beers unlifted, the bragging unknown.

And the second place corn dogs are loud in their wail,
The refs they cheated they howl and they yell;
And the might of the corndogs, unsmote by the sword;
Hath melted like snow front of Saban, their Lord.