A Traditional Englishman's Sport,-Cricket.More traditionally played on green grass,except those who venture off the Kentish Coast each year.Hence this poem!

                                            ANYONE FOR CRICKET?        

                         A Light-Ship rocks the waves,- making History!

                         It stands alone,-upon emerging shelving shallows.

                          Distant,-the fog glides past.

                          Eerie sounds,Clanging bells,of anchoring buoys.

                          The muffled,Heart-felt cries from Seagulls, flying overhead,-reach my ears!

                           DEEP.

                           FIRM.

                           YELLOW.

                           A distant Sand Bank appears,- dotted with worm casts,-above the waves!

                            An old Hover-craft glides in,- on gentle breeze,-in hazy sunlight.

                             The Cricket Teams,- disembark!

                             Pitches layed.

                             Seasonal Balls cast.

                             Wickets, played and taken.

                             A few hours grace!

                             Taking in a picnic, - a golden Opportunity!

                             Till, they concede Nature.

                              Cool lapping English Channel water.

                              A yearly ritual, - sanctity ends!

 

                    (c) Clive.A.Baldwin

                         May,2009.

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