The resounding of history

History resounds,

a percussive hymnology

of bat against ball

on a Sunday afternoon.

The hymn board

advertises the last man out,

not amazing Grace.

White robed figures

in the rituals of combat,

ghosts of the past,

scattered around the village green.

On random benches

old men remember

days of victory

between catnaps

dreaming their moments

of glory.

The single finger salute

of judicial umpire

signals

a pavilion promenade.