Morning Fields

Fresh grass upon a morning’s glist’ning field
Dewy from fog burnt off by sun’s first ray
Leaving a vast and crisp expanse revealed
Perfect for the games we are wont to play
Cleats are tied tight, o’er and about our feet
Jerseys fresh, though they won’t for long be neat
The breeze is gentle, the sunlight warm and soft
As the disc soars on the air, high aloft
We sprint across the field, playing a stack
Our defenders we push to swiftly run,
Moving slowly forward, a little back
‘Til at long last the goal, the point we’ve won
Then we turn and swap, do it in reverse
And over and on till our breath is terse
Our sides burning, and our mouths dry as ash
A good morning workout, then home to wash