![]() The Grand Old GameA Poem by therisa
I find myself
Dreaming of March 1st When the true sign Of Spring arrival happens With the start Of baseball’s Spring training. Sounds of A thrown baseball Exploding in the catcher’s mitt As an Umpire calls Balls and strikes. Bats shattered In half Upon a nasty slider Thrown by a southpaw. Managers arguing An Umpire’s call Whether it is A borderline pitch Or a close play Called for an out. Yes sirree folks Nothing beats A match-up Between an ace pitcher And a powerful hitter. Each side Attempts to figure out How to get That elusive hit or out. All the while I am ensconced In a comfortable chair Watching the game The best way possible Broadcasted over the radio. © 2011 therisa |
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1 Review Added on January 19, 2011 Last Updated on January 19, 2011 Author![]() therisaOntario, CanadaAboutA pre-op transwoman, writing about my experiences, using free verse. Been told my poems are very emotional and personal, almost like a diary entry in verse. If you want to friend me, please review.. more..Writing
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