Come forth our Angel of the North Stokesy

Come forth our Angel of the North Working class…but VIP pass…standing sentry for cricketing gentry Towering injury tarnished Talisman penury Revarnished..primacy rebooted for his mooted destiny and legacy Poetry in motion..the emotion The devotion..our commotion potion Rejuvenation India rue what Stokes does imbue Hadn’t got a clue what to do Trepidation…procrastination..then damnation Stewed…then skewed..eschewed..slewed and screwed by the Hullabaloo dude..voodoo feud…hoodoo mood and rude juju of guess who Not just effervescent…our ever present..iridescent..luminescent incandescent…solar flared…flame haired crescent The revival of a tribal primal Test Totem Our frightening Nordic God..a lightning rod…gives a nod..says sod The odds let's run roughshod…spiking…striking…Norse tour de force Our white knight on a horse..our proper copper top Viking Gill with the Shubman plan.. beseeching alright screeching…saw his rival Preaching and teaching the Big Ben bible..dope tropes..where iron will and skill Topped the bill..the blazing sun bleaching.. Indians hopes On the ropes leaching …no reaching survival But not even those in the hall of fame…are bigger than the game Unless of course Ben Stokes is your name One of Test cricket’s all time greatest leaders…sublime Readers of the majesty of the Test tapestry Many a scuffle…more needle than a pine cone…feathers did ruffle Another row…kerfuffle ... .yet Ben wouldn’t bow…kowtow His zen and his men then managed somehow.. to maintain his insane never ending mind bending high octane must entertain champagne campaign They troll Crawley…digging a hole…will surely make them pay the toll Heads will roll..gnarly..snarly won’t parley Ben will take control…body and soul…bowl all day The where.. there is a will there is a way style of play is here to stay Ben’s fashion of beaming compassion for his boys Scheming ploys, those pleas on his knees screaming…passion Coursing through his brain and every single vein Gongs for Big Ben’s bongs…the skipper’s duty…righting our wrongs…as we feast on a riot diet…the fruity booty of our beauty and the beast from the North East Front or back page…his bold tale which broke the mold Without fail told..always centre stage…they will never cage The rage of this sage..for even old Nasser sold this folks ..Stokes’ golden age Wry…wiry..sly…wily…fiery..heart on his sleeve Ben’s pet peeve if you fret..don’t believe..which is why like Frank Stokesy can say…come what may….I did it my way