The ritual is repeated every spring,
On diamonds of vibrant green.
It's a mystical, magical, wonderful thing,
The most wonderful thing, you've ever seen.
Grown men in tights, flying here and there,
Chasing a little sphere,
Laughing and carousing without a care,
While thousands stand around and cheer.
There's food and drink for everyone,
And sometimes marching bands.
So much merriment under the sun,
It's really magnificent, really grand.
Tis truly magic and you'll agree,
That you'll never be the same.
Your soul will be young and wild and free,
When you go out to the old ball game.
4/7/12 Alton Texas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem