Scented breezes fill the air,
And rain clouds drift above.
Children playing without cares,
Running round with bat and glove.
Playing pepper on the field,
Till enough are gathered for a game.
Who knows what the day will yield,
No two days are quite the same.
Swinging for the fences every time,
Trying to imitate the babe.
Covered up with sweat and grime,
Rounding third he's got it made.
Left field throws it home,
But it's cut off on the way.
And the relay comes in strong,
Straight to the catcher, ain't no stray.
A slide, a cloud of dust, silence reigns,
And all around the great devout,
Scream and cheer and voice their their pains,
The runner has just been thrown out.
6/27/10 Alton Texas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem