Back Pocket Bulletin

Hallowed Turf

How I miss the MCG,


Where spirits rise and masses flock,


Stories flow and friends unite,


Times not measured by a clock.


Climbing the hill,


To beckoning light


The numbers swell,


As day turns to night.


Rounds are bought and shouts forgotten,


Last drinks drained,


Returning sotten.


The Bounce,a battle,the two teams clash.


The game moves quickly,


Crash and bash.


Half time break,


The squads adjust,




Some disgust.


The siren blares,


A final bell,


The pride of victory,


none can quell.


The players withdraw,


And crowds disperse,


Winning song,


Sung verse by verse.


Past bronze statues,


From cricket to race.


A night at the ‘G


In her warm embrace.





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