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Funeral Poems For Cricketers "A Cricketer's Last Boundary"






Weeping willows formed an honour guard

For the cricket ball writ with a noble name

A team of ten, which had once been eleven

Would never be the same side again


No bails united the forlorn stumps

Since this wicket had fallen some days ago

And as the bowler delivered to the lone batsman

The hushed crowd willed a six to go


The magical sound… of leather on willow

The sweet smell… of freshly cut grass

The cricketer… crossing the last boundary

To a third innings that would forever last


Michael Ashby

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