Four little batters batting by a tree,
one swung a bit too high, now there's only three.
Three little batters swinging in the blues,
one got a free base, now there's only two.
Two little batters beneath the scorching sun,
one fumbled all her swings, now there's only one.
One little batter ready with her bat.
WHACK! She hit a home-run, hope that coach is glad!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.