Beneath the sunlit skies vast and wide,
A tapestry of dreams in green and white,
Where willow whispers as it meets the seam,
And echoes of glory in every flight.

The bowler’s art, a rhythm in disguise,
A dance of shadows on the dusty ground,
The batsman poised, a warrior in stride,
Awaiting fate’s call in the silent sound.

Crowds erupt like waves on distant shores,
With every swing and miss, a tale is spun,
The field a stage for legends old and new,
Underneath the golden, setting sun.

In this arena where time seems to pause,
Heroes are born and stories unfold,
The spirit of cricket lives and breathes,
In every heart, both young and old.