“Yard Cricket” by Ron Marsh

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On pleasant summer afternoons,

My dad and I play cricket.

The dog he loves to chase the ball,

So he’s behind the wicket.


Our yard is small,

And so the ball

Is not hit very far.

But if we hit a window,

We cop a blast from ma.


I hit a whopping six some days.

That’s when it goes next door.

And if the neighbour gets upset,

We take that off the score.


When dad is batting I get scared.

I wish my gloves were leather.

He hits them fast, and most get past,

As I clap my hands together. 

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