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Cricket in a time of influenza

The grass is mown, the wicket should take spin,
The boundary is marked out in crisp white.
The sky’s bight blue and clear for it is spring,
And cricket is the Englishman’s delight.
The flannelled fools running down the pitch,
The far-off thwack of leather on willow,
The ball that disappears into the ditch,
Hazy summer days in which we wallow
Are banished now by Government decree.
Virus contaminates the village green.
Across the country there’s something obscene
In playing fields lying fallow this season.
A summer without cricket’s beyond reason
And there isn’t any honey left for tea.

Hear and watch this here….

Covid-19 is Green

For Greta
Things are getting better.
Covid-19
Is positively Green.
We can’t fly anywhere
Which means cleaner air.
It’s almost illegal to drive
So dandelions thrive.
We’re grudgingly free to take a walk
But don’t sunbathe or talk.
The police
Won’t let us out on day release.

Capitalism’s in shock:
Supermarkets are out of stock,
Food’s in such fashion
It’s rationed.
We aren’t allowed out
To shop, eat or otherwise flout
The incarceration
Of the nation.
So many people dying
Might stop the earth frying
And at least you can see
More whales in the sea.

The average woman or bloke
Is broke.
Jobs are being lost
But maybe it’s worth the cost
For Greta’s mission
Is lower emissions.
Now she’s got what she’s after:
Global disaster.
It’s obviously the solution
To international pollution.
This is the aim of environmental sages:
Our return to the Middle Ages.

TEED OFF

Football,
Not at all.
Rugger’s
A bugger.
Tennis
Is a menace.
Cricket’s
A sticky wicket.
Athletics
Makes you sick.
Riding a horse
Is worse.
You can’t drive far
In a racing car.

All we can do is talk
Or go for a nice long walk
Unspoiled
And call it golf.

Thanks for visiting. On these pages you will find some verse and some worse.

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