Rugby Grass Roots

The grandstand is gelid by a sharp wintry breeze Carried off from the field are the last of dead leaves The shrill of the whistle, muffled calls from the crowd From the tunnel stampede, metal studs echo loud. With high, flick-tossing coin each Captain his reason To kick-off with his mates a new rugby season. The kicker announces starting ball high and long And on lumbering wind sings a rugby man’s song. Fifteen players below impatient stand waiting Eyes fixed to the heavens, the ball falls rotating. To arms of the hardest with sweetest possession Grueling match has begun— the rugby obsession! Steaming bodies in scrums, deep grunt of engagement Weary boots grappling earth now frozen like pavement By tackle-ruck-lineout, each man one-and-for-all With a powerful push a try-bound rolling maul. Players leaping for joy, heads of others hang low Elation, deception such do rugby games go. So Grand Final is here, a long winter has passed The crowd and the speaker say it happened too fast; Cut-throat right to the last; Wing, Second Row to Prop A try, then conversion, to make every heart stop. (Far left of the uprights flew last quiet ball spent but with westerly drift over black dot she went!) … And with sweet summer grass blowing crisp in the sun where butterflies frolic, spider webbing is spun White sidelines are missing, fields all ripe, rich ‘n’ green Rugby season has passed, but young spirits are keen A rugby ball punted, a lone boy, polished boots To play for his country, his dream built on grass roots. ------------------- Alexandrine Poem in balanced six syllable cesurae for each 12 syllable line