Goldfinch60

Croquet Fever.

I must go down to the lawn again, to the bright green sward and the balls,

And all I ask is a mallet and a hoop that calls.

The hit goes down and hits the ball and towards the hoop it’s racing,

Towards the hole between the uprights its facing.

 

I must go down to the lawn again for the call comes to my mind,

Where joy and happiness there I find,

And all I ask is a windless day with a bright blue sky

And the balls go straight every hit that I try.

 

I must go down to the lawn again to that wonder in my life,

Where any sorrows in my mind are lost and never rife,

And all I ask is a merry word from a laughing fellow drover,

And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the game is over.