We came to do battle on green and pleasant swards.
Our weapons were only mallets, neither axes or swords.
We struggled within limits imposed by our skill,
yet bravely surmounted by conviction and will.
Our targets were hoops and – better still – balls;
obstructing one’s opponent until the victim falls
defeated by a mixture of cunning and spite,
‘till ready to fold and then give up the fight.
We pursued these vendettas in scenes of rural splendour,
rounding off each session on a bit of a bender.
We quaffed and chatted, rediscovering our friends,
regretting excesses of zeal and keen to make amends.
And with the season ending what really mattered most
was to express our thanks and admiration to each and every host,
and as we brushed aside a Summer of wind and rain
all we could say was: ‘Can we do this again?’