ramblings and things

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If I can choose my place to go
Then let it please be there,
Facing the popping crease
Just adjacent to square,
Watching the county team
In full championship run,
Here to clinch the title
Under a warm Yorkshire sun.

Lounged out seated
In the public stand
A pint of John Smiths
Clenched firmly in hand

Give me a team of doughty batters
Bowling of mixed speed and spin
Just  three last  overs to go
And twenty needed to win.
And let the last strike bring a six so I
Can scream victory with my final breath
And with shouldered bat, up the pavillion
Steps to spit straight into the eyes of death.

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