Baseball Poem by Ray Hansell

The pitcher throws
The batter swings
It flies into the night
Like the ball had wings

Runner at first
He takes his lead
He will steal second
Using blazing speed

Rounding third
Heading home
The game has been won
With a talent home grown

The umpire's arm
Snaps in the air
The batter turns
With a cold eye stare

The skies open up
The rain starts to fall
Fans are wondering
If the game will get called

So many things going on
All over the field
The players with a weakness
Will always be revealed


6-4-19/RjH