Pushing aside the curtains to welcome in the dawn,
I see my ‘sentries’
on guard duties.
‘Tall and silent’ until they are called upon.
Four roses, keeping
watch
The silence in the ground is cathartic
A much needed antidote to the previous week,
But short lived,
As groundstaff arrive to prepare for the day
Mowing, sweeping, marking out lines
The groundsmen go about their work,
Unaware of being watched, engrossed in preparation
Of the turf that
will become the ‘battlefield’
As the hour gets nearer,
The noise level intensifies,
Exhilaration? camaraderie?
Tension?
All of these, but belied by a calm composure
A bell rings in the distance, A roar goes up,
Cries of ‘Come on Yorkshire’ echo around the ground
My tingle of excitement turns to a shiver of anticipation,
Let ‘The War of the
Rose’s’ commence!
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