In the golden light of morning’s grace,
The field awakens with a gentle embrace,
Whispers of willow against leather so fine,
A dance of shadows, where dreams intertwine.
The bowlerâs rhythm, a measured stride,
Sending the ball on a curving glide,
Batsmen poised with a heart full of fire,
Chasing runs with passionate desire.
Fielders scattered, like stars in the night,
Each movement precise, a beautiful sight,
In this arena where legends are made,
Courage and skill in every brigade.
As the day wanes, and shadows grow long,
The echoes of cricket, a timeless song,
With every match, a story unfolds,
In the heart of the game, a bond that holds.