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Test Match (standard:poetry, 592 words)
Author: St GeorgeAdded: Oct 10 2002Views/Reads: 2500/1654Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A poem I wrote during the summer and have only just got around to publishing. Warning: contains vivid scenes of cricket which may be unsuitable for some (american) readers.


In sport some say that football is the greatest that there is, 

And some maintain that rugby truly is the biz, 

Me I say that cricket is where my heart belongs, 

A treat it is to view it and to sit among the throngs, 

Of likewise thinking spectators who go to every match, 

Who witness every wicket and who clap at every catch. 

Once long ago in history England was the best, 

We'd go abroad and always be the victors of the test, 

Those days are gone but not forgot and we will always say, 

History repeats itself and this will be our day, 

We will win we really do believe the whole world we will show, 

It is our right our destiny we invented it you know! 

But then arose Australia and said 'your time is past', 

They crushed our partnerships with bowling strong and fast, 

They knew how to hit boundaries of both kinds four and six, 

But this old English dog was not yet out of tricks, 

We sent the body-liners we proved we could play rough, 

But then that tactic was outlawed for being just to tough. 

The Indians they come and play they're full of eastern flair, 

They march across the pitch with style and meet the batsman's stare, 

They never miss a catch it seems they throw both fast and true, 

Their talents seem to never end for they can spin it too, 

Yet English men are strong and brave and English hearts are bold, 

We know that we can conquer them just like the empire old. 

The Sri-Lankans too are fearsome and can inspire dread, 

When a Sri-Lankan ball comes flying straight at the batsman's head, 

They wield the bat with style they throw the ball with skill, 

They are a force to reckon with when they go for the kill, 

As tourists they come to our land and combat does commence, 

But we must stand proud and tall and whack it o'er the fence! 

And though Pakistan is much maligned they're mighty at the bat, 

And fielders they will oft produce as agile as a cat, 

They stride across the battlefield they show no signs of fear, 

And the bowler he's the master a wizard with the sphere, 

Yet also we can beat them or so we tell ourselves, 

And bring the trophy back with us to place upon our shelves. 

West Indians are tall and proud their skill it is immense, 

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