The click of bowls upon the Green.
The scowls of anguish, grins of joy.
Bodies contort to guide unheeding bowls
that wobble uselessly and die unloved.
The lucky wick that wins an end.
A skilful arc that dances with the Jack.
The anguish felt when a fat end is lost
to unlikely shot, pin ball like and rare.
The Jack that teeters on the edge,
to drop into the sandy ditch and hide.
Difficult choice compounds the chance
of being short or lured to sandy death.
All this and more awaits intrepid souls
who joust as seriously as in days or yore,
where bold Knights fought for a Ladies grace
and trumpets blared in praise of feats of arms.
Has anything changed the spirit of The Game,
since that dread day, upon the headland, where-
a great fleet, attacking from the South
was dismissed with these brave historic words?
There is time for one more end and the Spanish fleet, as well. Amen!
David Garlick, Saanich, On the Green, June, 2009