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'.
















































Author's Notes/Comments: 

Memories of watching my dad in cricket matches, a long time ago.

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