As I sit and gently clap 

Summer sun upon my back

And sink into the wicker chair

To watch the ball soar through the air

 

Numbers lazily creeping up 

In small amounts, depends on luck

Grouped in white they mill about 

Sometimes an occasional shout

 

In faded hut a game is played

Sandwiches, tea and lemonade

Arranged on plates for thirsty men

Before venturing on the field again

 

Englishness is all around

The short mowed grass the gentle sound 

Of bat on ball, the tick the tock

I sip my tea and glance at clock

 

To cap it all what can I hear

A distant sound draws loud and clear

From the sun a familiar shape 

Twists and turns I start to shake

 

And then a roar that deafens ear

Swoops downs before it disappears

Tips waving at the crowd below

Spitting fire and flame as you well know.

 

Return now to the matter in hand

To semi watch the game as planned

He looks a very dapper chap

First ball from tea , Ow’s That !

 

04/09/2021. 20:55-21:13