Autobiographical Passion

the smell of the leather the fizz of the seam thump into the gloves its seems like a dream the smell of the ralgex the wince in the hit strain of the scrummage that I had to quit the smell of the chlorine the click of the hub the ache of the thighs no more, that's the rub the smell of old photos of passions now spent now just memories that history has sent once all were passions that soared on the wing some things so central that made my heart sing Now while I can't scrummage Play cricket no more nor tri-ing to run, I can't shut the door Cos these were my passions my soul they did touch they filled me with joy i miss them so much but hope springs eternal my hip has no pain my doctor said "yes" I _may_ run again while i'll never scrummage or face one more ball one passion returned...... To answer the call The smell of the sweat the pounding of feet on trails and on roads passion - on repeat