Oh captain, my captain. Our fun filled season is nearly done.
The rackets have weathered every nick, the prize we seek approaches.
The finals are near, the thwack I hear, the spectators all exulting,
whilst members eye the grippy shoes, their smelly socks need
caring;
But O stroke! Stroke! Stroke!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the court my captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Oh captain, my captain! Warm up and hit the ball;
Warm up – for you the pennant is hung – for you the officials call,
For you sweat bands and coloured shoes – for you the spectators
are crowding.
For you they call, the teaming mass, their eager faces
seeking;
Here Captain! Dear brother!
This forearm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the court,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My captain does not reply, his eyes are glazed and still,
My brother does not feel my forearm, he has no pulse nor will,
The season is over safe and sound, its competitions complete and
won;
Exult O courts, and smash O balls!
But I with squeaky soles tread,
Walk the court my captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
by David Jarvis 11th November 2022.
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