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.