In the quiet morning dew, where green meets sky, A legacy unfolds, as years swiftly pass by. Seventy-five
summers, seventy-five springs, the bowls have whispered secrets, heard the birds’ wings.
The greens, like ancient tapestries, tell tales, of laughter, camaraderie, and fierce bowls battles. From seasoned hands to eager novices, Each roll, each end, a chapter in our shared chronicles.
The sun-kissed faces, etched with time’s embrace, gathered under azure skies, in this sacred space. The gentle thud of wood on grass, a rhythmic song, echoes of champions past, forever strong.
Through seasons of triumph and moments of grace, we’ve stood together, side by side, in this hallowed place. The jack dances, elusive, teasing our aim, yet our spirits remain unyielding, aflame.
Seventy-five years—a tapestry woven with care, threads of resilience, friendship, and memories rare. As the sunarcs high, casting shadows long, we raise our bowls, salute the journey we’ve drawn.
To the Bongaree Bowls Club, where legends reside, may your greens stay true, your spirits never hide. Here’s to seventy-five more, and beyond, Rolling memories, forever fond.
