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Final Innings

Winston danced inside his mind
when age slowed him.
Dark rum appeared by magic
from a varnished globe,
that disappeared back inside vegetation
he called his rubberised palm plant
in pride of place by the window sill.
Life is what it is.
Begins then ends.
Now he’s carried out
by his charming Caribbean friends,
but when those West Indian bowlers
scattered English batsmen like confetti,
spontaneous joy seemed unfettered
and for on forever.
The globe would open and close
in rapid motion.
Rubber plant blown wild
among gales of expectation.
As we left the church
my eyes were pricked
by the plaintive high- pitched lament
sent to the beyond,
sung by his ever- loving wife.

12 Jun 18

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cricket is a metaphor for ?
 — unknown

We don't seek for...sixes are everthing plus a couple of googlies and a late leg cutter...on second thoughts stick to baseball.
 — larrylark