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Autumn means the end of the bowls season,
A pastime, which, for many, has no reason.
With it’s competitions, friendlies, and roll-ups.
No! not a ciggie. Opportunities for tune ups,
Greens upon which friends, each try to outplay
By releasing a wood on it’s curving way

Sometimes sun baked, occasionally soaked,
Other times romantically, mistily, cloaked,
Cromer Marrams enviously elevated above the sea
Members hoping for weather so balmy
But, whatever the weather joy can be found
Especially when the words ‘a toucher’ resound

Remember last Spring, with it’s early promise
All leagues and challenges sorted and, no bias,
A look to the season forthcoming
Notices pinned up for names to be adding
Smiles all around, with just the occasional scowl,
A hope that there will be no need to call foul

The clubhouse buzzes with earnest intent
Then out to the tourney let’s make it a splendid event
The captains’ words, he or she does expound
Then split into teams, handshakes all around
Newbies rubbing shoulders with those so well versed
But all are now equal, in the sport, deeply immersed

Sadly, time moves on, to the final day
The verve that filled many a step, no longer gay
Shoulder to shoulder, members stand, only one game to finish
Please let it end with a wonderful flourish
Rink number one from road to sea for that tourney
Soon, a final drink, leaving only, the homeward journey

The evening draws on, a slight chill in the air
The last wood to be bowled, Oh! let it be fair,
That sensuous curve, it’s on the right track,
Closer, yet closer, nearing the jack,
This one final effort please don’t let it miss
Then slowly, slowly, they touch.

A last fond kiss.

(Photo is of Jackie, my wife)

Photograph and poem © Jack Purvis OOPs