When the Umpire lifts his arms,
to signal a six,
As a bowler on the opposite team,
it really gets on my wick.

When I have the ball in hand,
it’s weighed down by the leather,
But when it’s whizzing through the air,
it looks as light as a feather.

As the innings swap, I pad up,
with a nervous look on my face,
But when I’m out on the pitch,
I hit the ball with such grace.

But it all stops there,
when I hear the words – How’s that?
The ball has hit the stumps,
and that is the end of my bat.

We win again and again,
but when we lose, I pout,
But I’ll never stop loving cricket,
because that is what this poem is all about!