In fields where dreams take flight,
The sun casts shadows long and bright,
A gentle tap, a whispered cheer,
Cricket’s grace, forever near.

With willow’s swing, the air does sing,
A dance of skill, a timeless fling,
Boundaries drawn by fleeting feet,
In heartbeats’ rhythm, they compete.

The bowler’s art, a crafted spell,
In spinning tales, the stories dwell,
A moment’s pause, a breath held tight,
The game unfolds in morning light.

Spectators watch with bated breath,
As leather meets the willow’s breadth,
In every cheer, a shared delight,
Cricket’s world, a pure respite.