Spin

As I was growing up,
I played cricket with my Dad,
Those sun drenched afternoons,
Were amongst the best I’ve had.
He could spin the ball with vengeance,
Turning it either way,
It often made me look foolish,
I’m not ashamed to say.
He’s now eighty-two,
I’m at thirty nine,
Those halcyon days in the yard,
Have been left far behind.
But about a year ago,
I was bowling to some boys,
They are my twin nephews.
Cricket gear amongst their toys.
I spun the ball with vengeance,
Turning it either way,
I made them look quite foolish,
I’m quite proud to say.
Then my Dad came over smiling,
He picked up the cricket bat,
Now was my chance to get even,
I was looking forward to that.
But then I smiled at him ruefully,
And bowled the first ball,
I spun it very gently,
It turned not much at all.
I continued to bowl quite gently,
On this approach I stayed,
I did not want him to look foolish,
I am proud to say.
Because my memories of those summer days,
Playing cricket with my Dad,
Deserve to remain they way they are,
Amongst the best I’ve had.

Cheers