Careful and clever that batsman must be
Who wishes to tot up a century.
Ten different dangers hedge him about
By any of which he may be put out,
First 'bowled', second 'caught', and third 'leg before',
A fate that most batsmen dislike and deplore.
The fourth is 'run out', deemed very bad cricket;
The fifth, if he clumsily 'hit his own wicket'.
'Stumped' is the sixth, the seventh we'll call
Foolishly touching or handling the ball.
Eighth, if the striker 'should hit the ball twice'
With malice prepense - a pestilent vice.
Ninth, if he purposely spoils a fair catch
While running - and tenth, the last of the batch,
When jacket or hat, propelled by the gale,
Touches the wicket displacing a bail!
Poem ©William Outhwaite
A time will come, a time will come,
(Though the world will never be quite the same),
When the people sit in the summer sun,
Watching, watching the beautiful game.
A time will come, a time will come,
With fifteen stars in a green heaven,
Two to be batting, and two to judge,
And round about them the fair Eleven.
A time will come, a time will come,
When the people sit with a peaceful heart,
Watching the beautiful, beautiful game,
That is battle and service and sport and art.
A time will come, a time will come,
When the crowds will gaze on the game and the green,
Soberly watching the beautiful game,
Orderly, decent, calm, serene.
The easy figures go out and in,
The click of the bat sounds clear and well,
And over the studying, critical crowds
Cricket will cast her witching spell.
Yet a time will come, a time will come,
Come to us all as we watch, and seem
To be heart and soul in the beautiful game,
When we shall remember and wistfully dream -
Dream of the boys who never were here,
Born in the days of evil chance,
Who never knew sport or easy days,
But played their game in the fields of France.
Poem ©Arnold Wall