Tuesday 7 July 2015

Eve of the Ashes

 
Twas the night before the Ashes, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The bats were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that England's victory soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of wickets danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘polo-shirt, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long Ashes nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
 
Image from BBC sport cricket


The moon on the breast of the newly mowed pitch
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the batsman's, gloves stitch .
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But England's top bowler, followed by eight "cricketeers".

With an over arm bowl, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Andersons flick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Baistow! now, Bell! now, Carberyy and Jordan!
On, Cook! On, Wright! on, on Tredwell and Morgan!
To the top of the Wicket! to the top of the Wall!
Now Swing away! Swing away! Swing away all!"