SPARKLING
I'm not a good Cover I freely admit,
And I'm not very handy at Point;
I'm growing inert and no longer exert
The nimble gymnastical joint:
I cannot rejoice when a hurricane cut
Contuses my shin with its crunch;
When fielding to hitters my heart patters-pitters,
But trust me to sparkle at lunch!—
I radiate freely at lunch.
When Blair puts me Longstop without any pads,
And delivers occasional Wides,
My thumb is askew, and my bosom is blue,
And bruises be-smother my sides!
I cannot rejoice when a bail comes express
Saluting my pate with a punch;
Obesity quivers, there's wringing of withers,
But trust me to sparkle at lunch!—
I radiate freely at lunch.
The National Game is a tonic, I know,
And a tonic is very good stuff;
I wish, though, the ball were a little less small,
And I wish that two pads were enough!
I cannot rejoice when a Richardson comes
And crumbles me up in a bunch!
I never like tonic behaving cyclonic,
Preferring to sparkle at lunch!—
I corruscate freely at lunch.