"The Cricket Field" - A poem

A beautiful poem on Cricket.

The author is Arthur Salway and it is simply called "The Cricket Field".

Fortunate indeed this field;
It’s destiny is not to yield
A harvest made with wheat and corn
From rutting plough or harrow born,
But cleared of lump & stump & thicket
Is set aside for playing cricket.

In winter gentle sheep may graze
Preserving turf for summer days,
A picket fence thrown round the square
Should hoof or human trespass there.
Some say we should share – use the land
Clearly, they don’t understand.

This field shall always take its name
Only from England’s noblest game.
Despite its level disposition
And most favourable condition
Hockey posts shall not be found,
This is no recreation ground.

Four generations, maybe more,
Since long before the first World War,
Cricketers long gone, & some
Who play today, & those to come,
All sow unmixed the seeds of cricket
And harvest only run & wicket.