Finding the sun in an Irish summer
Is somewhat akin’ to Russian roulette…
Anyway.
We would spend August in Arklow and Courtown
And I would be clutching my cricket set.
Anyway.

Jump over walls, flatten the hay.

A quick evening session before we would even
Have time to reflect on our holiday
Commencing.
Will we play football or go pitch and putting.
We know we have swingball but we’d always plump
For the gentlemen’s game.

Yellow the grass, flatten the hay.
All day…

The farmer would come
Before the bad wheather.
Our pavillion would seem
Like a blur in the ether.

Jump over walls, flatten the hay.

The night would creep in
On our Indian summer.
But tomorrow would bring
A new crease to discover.

D.i and I.t, Gatting and Willey,
May sound so silly to the great un-
Initiated.
For me and my brother they conjured up visions
Of heroes who stood against all of the things
That we hated.

Lets jump over walls and flatten the hay.
All game…