The Wounded Cricketer (Not by Walt Whitman)
The Wounded Cricketer (Not by Walt Whitman.)
I am a wetbob who was trying to play cricket,
(not because I wanted to, but because I had to.)
Then I got hit in the eye by a ball,
So I lie on the grass here under a lime hue.
The grass looks nice, & so does the sky too.
The leaves look green, & there are such lots of them.
One, two, three, four.... seven, eight, nine, ten.
.... eighteen, nineteen... I can't count them.
The sky looks all blue & white & grey.
I can hear someone walking on the road over there.
His feet go up & down, up & down.
He treads in the puddles, & kicks the little pebbles
so that they rattle all over the place.
The ground underneath me is all rough & lumpy.
I can feel a little beetle running down my backbone.
And there's an ant on my ear.
I can see a rook up there; he's black all over.
I don't think I shall move. I feel nice & comfortable.
|Oh joyful sound that met my ear!|
|As sweet as wedding bell.|
|That saved my mind in wave & wind,|
|And very month of Hell.|
|And, the weather||Then fell the wind & shone the sun|
|abating, reachable||At the kindly voice of man.|
|home safely.||And I was home from flood & foam |
|Before fourth school began.|