The Game Of Life Poem by Baz scammell

Sport is a game

Part of the game of life

Any summer weekend you see cricketers in whites

On ovals

In parks

In paddocks

Sweating under the baking sun

The crack of leather on willow

The celebratory shouts

The raucous appeals

The questioning groans

That trickle through our neighbourhoods

Our summer afternoon birdsong

It used to be on the radio

Like the river

A constant in our lives

Ever flowing with us as we twist and bend through each day

They've flooded our world
With different length games on most nights from somewhere in the world

which dulls the anticipation
and dilutes the enjoyment.

But the river flows on

Into our stream, A rock has been thrown

that momentarily stops the flow

And stops the clocks

Our tears fall

And form ponds around the rock.

Weknow that when the ponds are full

Of our tears

The rivers will flow again

And our games

And the game of life

Will resume