This is one of my favourite poems – it reminds me of simpler times. The subjects in the artwork are my great-grandfather and great-uncle in the 1920’s, Capel, Western Australia, (the dog is no known relation). Enjoy the poem.
“BACKYARD CRICKET”
Remember back to younger days when sport was played for fun.
We’d play the game with pure delight beneath the summer sun.
When a bat could be a tree branch, a can could be a wicket.
The fences marked the boundaries; the rules were backyard cricket.
We would play the game for hours and all would get a turn.
We’d bowl slowly for the small kids; they’d need a chance to learn.
But when a dad or uncle would go up to the crease,
We’d bowl as fast as lightning; all mercy bowls would cease.
And when it came our turn to bat, we prayed to lady luck,
‘Please let me get at least a run, not bowled out for a duck!’
But soon we came to learn the fact that losing was no shame,
It’s all about good sportsmanship and how we played the game.
For winning is an empty thing, if everyone is cross.
For all the good it did for you, you may as well have lost.
The greatest match you’ll ever play is not for fame or rates.
It’s in the backyard of your home with family, pets and mates.
Poem and artwork by Ian Coate
https://iancoate.com/