There on top --
Worn -- on top,
Where your stroke
Connects and follows
Through the grass,
All the hollows
Measure time
In flakes,
Your defense
Gone;
Lacquer spent
That had once
Guarded wrong
Cannot remain
Unstripped
For long....
For long
Have I
So handed to you
Offers, gentle
Strokes continued,
When at last
A worried whimper
Smacked and
Startled
My opposing goal;
Shaken, dropped
To knees, you
Beg no more...
And neither I
For none have
Scored,
Through grass
With stick
So worn.

rjw 4/23/96


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