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Sunday Cricket.
Body flattens whiskered grass.
Eyes soak in the scene.
Ray's of sun hug at your back,
Surveying village green.
Itinerant chairs, along for the ride
Today are floral dressed.
Delicate pansies, blousey rose,
Cricket wives, in flowered best.
Knife sharp crack as ball hits bat
Pries open sun warmed eyes.
A flurry of white, the ball ascends
As straight as an arrow, flies.
Sun kissed day just drowsing on,
As endless as maybe.
Up goes a shout, the last man's out.
Mad rush for 'cricket tea'.
