Two, One… Whoosh!
Wide kid eyes his… would hug
What instantly became a flying rug,
Waiting at the door…
With a curly haired maestro
Astride, waving a bat that scored
Two hundred and twenty runs
At Trinidadian… Spain’s Port.
They took off as crowds roared,
To where waved palms on Sunny shores.
The kid sensed the endorsement…
At an electrified Queen’s Park Oval,
For each of the Little Master’s twenty two fours.
Such mornings, times thirty four,
The kid flew to grasses glorified,
Encircled by eyes divinely satisfied
On the rug woven by scribes.
In retrospect, he feels obliged
To offer eternal thanks for the rides.
– Bolbul
Bolbul's Patch 