As I start to think about our school days many memories float by and some linger longer. One of them I still remember is the poem Mr. Suntharalingam made us learn by repeating for hundreds of time...
There's a breathless hush in the close to-night
Ten to make and the match to win
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play, and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat.
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"
From
Lingan Nathan
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