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Punt
Warm and windy, not November at all
The rains have wandered everywhere
But this dusty grid of dead turf

Punt
Sail, sail and turnover, it’s beautiful
Rebecca would like it here today
Open, wide open and free
The dirt smells like the forty other fields
Where I’ve spent the best part of my life

Punt
Wonder -- I wonder
If those purple shirts were lined down
Dirty and sweaty, ten abreast
With pain and determination in their eyes
And blaspheme in their breaths
Could I hit it?
Concentrate;  head down, follow through;
I doubt it

Punt
Terrible;  missed it
Wobble like a falling dove
From the spray of that old double-barrel
Bounce wrong, like a sad story
It ends with a bleak emptiness
Keeping up is impossible
Reading less, running slower, timing off
Knowledge fading, the science doubles its contents
As I wander in the ignorance that surrounds me

Punt
Short, so short;  no power left
So long and so short the time simply ceased
It would fly so strong then
But dribbles now

Punt
Jog to the ball
The muscles ache, the lungs rebel
Give way to the young you old fool
You can’t cut it anymore

Punt
The winds are turning from the north
Winter is so close
The time that could not end is over
And I miss it.
More, better, higher, super, greatest
The future lies ahead
But I miss it

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