Home Again Poem by gershon hepner

Baseball runners like a herd
storming the first base,
reach the second and the third.
Pitchers whom they face
hate to see them heading home,
welcomed by their mates,
leaving exiled where they roam,
fouls and flies the fates
of most members of the team.
Everyone’s astounded
once they blow a head of steam
with all bases rounded.
In Babylon the exiles will
not make a diamond field,
feeling not at home until
exile has been healed.
Neither fans nor mere spectators,
players every one,
they await a change of status,
records call a run.

4/3/06