ramblings and things

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Period Piece

Sunday Morning, Sunday morning
Next week so far away it seems
Snuggled in my nice warm bed
Indulging nostalgic dreams.

They are serving tea at the vicarage
With clotted cream and buttered toast
And lots of chatter over china tea
Overseen by our revered reverend host.
There's a crowd on the village green
Waiting for resumption of play
This very special Sunday
Our local cricket gala day.
It's limited over cricket
And runs have been a bit thin
But the vicar is quietly confident
That our village team will win.
He's serving tea all padded up,
Him being the next wicket down,
And his pads rub and clatter
As he serves the tea around.

Outside the birds are singing
Mingling with the noise
Of the village children playing
As the girls run away from the boys.
Then the tea break is over
And the captain resumes the crease,
As a sort of silence descends
It's a tranquil scene of rural peace;
But that bell drags me awake.
It s some one at my front door
And I remember the village green
Just isn't there anymore.
The vicarage is private housing
And the church near closed down
The minister travelling as required
From miles away there in town

But Sunday this Sunday morning
If I snuggle back down I find
The cricket square and village green
Are safely stored there in my mind.

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Period Piece