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
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