It was fun while it lasted

Now it’s time to leave the crease

Take the plaudits, raise your bat

Let the innings cease

 

No need to hang around for tea

Just take your bag and shuffle off

And please, don’t go near the cakes

With that painful, hacking cough

 

Looks like rain, did you check the covers?

And coil up the boundary rope

Without proper preparation 

I’m afraid there was little hope

 

Reaching fifty can be hard enough

You’re hardly in your prime

Over seventy’s a bonus

After that, well, it’s borrowed time

 

So, don’t be glum, rejoice

There’s no cause to wistfully linger

You really don’t have any choice

When the umpire lifts an index finger

 

Move along, make way

Don’t stare from behind that glass

At other members of the team

Who bow their heads and pass

 

And as you undo your gloves

And wheeze to catch your breath

Pack your pads and imagine it was

Some other person’s death

 

Who edged and lost their wicket 

A straightforward catch at slip

One more collateral victim

Of Bozball - “Let it all rip”