Richard Pierce

Life, Poetry, Sport

Season’s Close

Summer always comes to its end
Too quickly, too soon, and
Regrets are too easily dwelt on,
And sadness inevitable, after these
Days of joy and fear, and the
Bonds of disparate people being the
Right company at the right time,
Ordinary folk made extraordinary, in the
Knowledge that it’s this game that
Expands all our boundaries.

Count the hours of each match,
Reckon the heartbeats and sudden breaths
In every encounter, and savour the
Calm this closeness gifts us.
Keep the warm memories for the winter, and
Endure the cold seasons until they
Thaw into another summer.

Clothe the dark days in the trusted
Light of happinesses that can’t be
Undone by time or storm or age, and
Bear the empty fields until we meet again.

 

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