30 March 2007

write a poem about cricket

the yellow tennis ball and the coconut bough
marks of ambition on the concrete pitch
to think that playing games can make you rich
but that's not the question right about now
instead we want to ask just when and how
the ball can be hit halfway to the ditch
and one can get the runs without a hitch
where there's no umpire but a sleepy cow
names long forgotten run through every head
thoughts of great places to carry a bat
that take you far from this confining space
there's no time here for worry nor for dread
you dream of crying out at last howzat
and swearing oaths by the beard of grace

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