Poem of the Day




I strolled down to the park last week

To watch a game of cricket.

They speak a different language there –

Please, what’s a sticky wicket?


I stood with rapt attention

But soon became downhearted.

How is something over when

It hasn’t even started?


I thought most bowls held soup or fruit

And bats could squeak and fly,

That bowlers were a type of hat

And maidens rather shy.


The people sitting on the grass

All loved to clap and shout.

They yelled out things like “Four!” “No, six!”

And “Is he still in or out?”


They had a tea-break halfway through,

The sandwiches were good.

I concentrated really hard

But still misunderstood.


The next time I go for a walk

And see a cricket match,

I might learn how to spin a bowl

Or not to drop a catch.


My girlfriend doesn’t seem convinced.

“You’re all confused”, she said.

“Why fuss with all those words and rules –

Try something else instead.


I’ll walk beside you to the park;

Don’t buy that cricket glove.

We’ll sit and watch the tennis where

At least they speak of love.”


© Elaine Harris

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