|Last week I got a present from my friend;
he signed me on a team to play baseball.
I thought it strange and was not thrilled at all
but thanked him as I wished not to offend.
The next day I went out to buy my glove
then drove at once to see the Field of Dreams.
I saw the schedule for the other teams
and knew this field would be what people love.
It was outstanding to athletic yield;
the fence was high with seating apropos.
the dugout sported built-in radio
and there was room to roam in center field.
(For center field was dear to me in youth;
I was so fleet and thus I had the range.
I robbed the batters and some found it strange
that I was such an active long drive sleuth.)
The years have passed yet baseball still remains;
In batting practice, will I find the mark?
There’s tower light to play well after dark
yet time is such to field a team of pains.
Yet I am game for center field again;
the biggest thing is judging of the fly.
He swings and then it soars into the sky
way short of me to land in the bullpen.
The season winds and we have much to give;
we win a few and lose some on the way.
And some team members have a hint of gray,
but our athletic skills are relative.
The people cheer us from the stands and lawn,
and we’re a hit no matter if we lose.
But all in all, in life we have to choose
what team and field we’ll base our dreams upon.
I hit the dugout and we do high fives;
I notice that my legs are not the same.
Yet kudos I will give to this great game--
thank goodness that its spirit still survives.
It’s over now and memories will build,
so sometimes I just go to see the dreams.
And trespass isn’t always what it seems,
when you are just out standing in the field.
[Rhythm: 10] (Lines: 40)
Writer’s Cramp; December 4, 2011
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