The absolute best thing children love to do is set them free after getting a glimpse into their lives.

In winter time, the zoo reverts to metaphor,God's poetry of boredom:the cobra knits her Fair-Isle skin,rattlers titter over the same joke.

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Tail end. This is when all the good batsmen have been in and got out and only the not so good batsmen are left. In the England team the tail end starts with the opening bat. We may have to wade through a fair amount of rum-ti-tum rhymes by “Anon” to reach sentiments as rare as this – but they are there. They always have been.

This poem reminds that if a house is walled so tightly that it lets in no wind or rain, if a life is walled so tightly that it lets in no pain, grief, anger, or longing, it will also be closed to the entrance of what is most wanted." When I read that, that sparked something within me. I know that my deep interpretation of poem are not so uncommon after all. The longing for deepened connection may also be expressed as deftly and lightly as in this haiku by Basho:

November Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun! One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air, Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds ran, Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare. Store guns and ammunition first, Build forts and warlike factories, Sink bores and tanks where drought is worst, Give over time to industries. where a letter was drafted to the Irish Olympic Committee, insisting it get push-penny added to the Games so Ireland would win another gold. Here is how elemental it is. Still, today, I will sometimes be walking along on the road or driving somewhere, and I will be muttering under my breath the stream of consciousness monologue that I speak while batting. The entire monologue is an act of deep concentration, a game of trying to read the bowler, trying to predict his next move, trying to psyche myself up to deal with each ball bowled… But anyway I am indoors, of course, and this is a pane, here,and I have arranged the flowers for youagain.

As was his habit, he sent this gem to his circle of friends and some time later (so the story goes) rang one of them, his fellow-dramatist David Hare, to see if he had received it. Hare confirmed that he had.Recent times have seen a flood of new work as established poets (Gavin Ewart, Ted Hughes, Brian Jones, Norman Nicholson, Simon Rae, Kit Wright and many others) have described rollers abandoned in woods, grim-faced rebels in South Africa, radio commentators, grimy urban pitches, classic matches and so forth. There are pen portraits of Grace, Ranji, Gunn, Trumper, Hammond, Verity, Compton, Bradman, Cowdrey and Lara. There are new accents from the Caribbean and India. And SJ Litherland has written a whole book on Nasser Hussain (“Hooded eyes of ancestry/ Wait like a bird of prey”). The author begins her dissertation by tracing “spirit,” to its Latin root spirare, breath. It is no coincidence that the Greek “pneuma,” and Hebrew "ruach", both share the same meanings. Breathe, inspire, fill with spirit. To live is to be inspired. The most famous part of the "Gavaskar Calypso" is the one that describes how he batted "like a wall":