Blood coursing 'round your veins,
Heart going mad.
Excitment, fear and pleasure,
Deep breath and up you stand.
Eye on ball; bat in hand,
Feel a twang of fright,
Slow-motion curve the ball does fly,
Ball sweeps round, ball takes flight.
start to run, head bent low,
Past the posts that shield.
A rounder scored, a surge of joy,
It's your turn to field.
(August 2006)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem