Our bowler's arm's a spinning wheel:
Fro m the blur files the ball,
Straight and true, then swinging,
Extremely fast, the batter swipes,
Striking that round orb up
Into the eager crowd.
For the away team still fighting
Against losing the game:
applause − faint hopes rising.
Our flags fly: saffron, white, and green.
Our hearts beat like the drums.
Our bowler is ready.
And the winning spinner bounces
Past the final batter
Into the stumps − Howzat!

− Claire Horsburgh