Under the eternal lime,
In the shade of Woolley and Ames,
Grows a patch of hallowed turf
Where more’s at stake than simple games.

Bowling on despite the wet -
You never did mind a sticky wicket -
Undeterred by rat-a-tat
Of leather-on-willow, it was met
By pained cries.

Then you enlisted, weapon under arm,
To guard our stumps…
An explosion of noise.

Out.