Don Newton - Poem by Paul Butters
When Rome fell down, Don Newton with his flashing blade
He marched the corridors of Table Tennis power
For more than fifty years.
And graced a multitude of committees with his
As Mister NALGO, Don constructed
A glorious empire
Of countless teams
At many a venue:
Down Pasture Street, in Weelsby, Yarra, Knoll,
To name a few.
Amassing titles and cups
From every division
As far as I know.
A roll of honour too long to recall,
Now stretching to the horizon.
No fancy sponge, reversed rubber,
Or long pimples for our Don.
Give him a Barna, any plain spongeless pimpled bat,
To flash across the table.
A pint of mild,
Or game of chess
Will always go down well.
This table tennis granddad knows the score,
And takes his leisure now,
The sun goes down.
© PB in Yorkshire,5th December,2009 at 15.30.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about Don Newton by Paul Butters
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You