Cricketers Last Boundary Weeping willows formed an honour guard For the cricket ball writ with a noble name A team of ten, which had once been eleven Would never be the same side again *** No bails united the forlorn stumps Since this wicket had fallen some days ago And as the bowler delivered to the lone batsman The hushed crowd willed a six to go *** The magical sound… of leather on willow The sweet smell… of freshly cut grass The cricketer… crossing the last boundary To a third innings that would forever last *** Michael Ashby