The Hound and the Hawk

The Hound and the Hawk

You gawk at the Hawk
And balk at the chalk
While you pound on the ground in the mound.
Your hole is dug deep,
Your foot you can’t keep,
You smack at the crack of that sound.

For the fat of the bat
Hits the hide for a ride
And the shriek of the crowd gives it wings.
Overhead it does soar
As it changes the score,
Oh the grand in that slam how it stings.

For your pitch it did hang,
And your side felt the pang
As the Hawk with dead eyes made the swing.
With his might he took flight
Out of sight in the night,
The ball and the Hawk on a wing.

He cleaned up the bases
Without any traces,
And tipped his cap on his round.
Your team had begun it,
But his team had won it,
For one slip of the Hound on the mound.