Forget
the long, smouldering
afternoon. It is
this moment
when the ball scoots
off the edge
of the bat; upwards,
backwards, falling
seemingly
beyond him
yet he reaches
and picks it
out
of its loop
like
an apple
from a branch,
the first of the season.
the long, smouldering
afternoon. It is
this moment
when the ball scoots
off the edge
of the bat; upwards,
backwards, falling
seemingly
beyond him
yet he reaches
and picks it
out
of its loop
like
an apple
from a branch,
the first of the season.
( Simon Armitage )
www.ChordsAZ.com