"THE LAST WICKET"

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 70, Issue 91, 18 July 1944, Page 2

"THE LAST WICKET"

<•» On the village greens of England Where the grand old game was born During long light summer evenings On the gr.eensward, smoothly shorn The parson and the blacksmith The ploughman and the Squire After many a hard fought contest Would gather an impromptu choir Into which all were invited To make the rustic welkin ring With a tuneful time-worn ditty All most heartily would sing. Life is like a game of cricket Times: the umpire, fates the ball Each man stands before his wicket Careful lest, his stumps should fall So keep your arm and eye both steady. Watch your chances, one by one To score a point he always ready And be careful 'ere you run. Mussolini, scared and beaten Trembling at the bowler's end Is waiting for the swift dismissal Of his treacherous Nazi friend Hitler stands before his; wicket Wet with cold sweat of fear Wondering, how, long he can stick it Knowing that the end is near. The Allies hold the fatal leather To take-the trick that's called the hat That will knock the last Hun wicket Forever absolutely flat. H. SERGANT.