Poem by Norman Rowland Gale

Sparkling

    I'm not a good Cover I freely admit,
      And I'm not very handy at Point;
    I'm growing inert and no longer exert
      The nimble gymnastical joint:
    I cannot rejoice when a hurricane cut
      Contuses my shin with its crunch;
    When fielding to hitters my heart patters-pitters,
      But trust me to sparkle at lunch!--
        I radiate freely at lunch.

    When Blair puts me Longstop without any pads,
      And delivers occasional Wides,
    My thumb is askew, and my bosom is blue,
      And bruises be-smother my sides!
    I cannot rejoice when a bail comes express
      Saluting my pate with a punch;
    Obesity quivers, there's wringing of withers,
      But trust me to sparkle at lunch!--
        I radiate freely at lunch.

    The National Game is a tonic, I know,
      And a tonic is very good stuff;
    I wish, though, the ball were a little less small,
      And I wish that two pads were enough!
    I cannot rejoice when a Richardson comes
      And crumbles me up in a bunch!
    I never like tonic behaving cyclonic,
      Preferring to sparkle at lunch!--
        I corruscate freely at lunch.

1. Out
2. A Wigging
3. Cricket and Cupid
4. Quinquaginta Annos Natus
5. Star-Gazing

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