The ashes

What glittering prize is this,
The passion of two nations,
Twenty two men the country’s best, Brimming with pride and fervour, Twenty five days for the ultimate in sport, The highs and lows,
The nearly and maybes,
Two enemies so fearsome a force, Antagonists from centuries past, Clashing once more with might and power, To do battle in searing heat of mid summer, Through the cooling September, Volleys of leather clad projectiles, Deflecting blows with English willow, Whites stained reds, greens and earthly brown, With the toil on this very English soil, The trophy for all this blood, sweat and tears, Ash and dust from eighteen eighty two, The year that cricket died.

The Ashes.

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