Hit Poem by Jacob Wortman
Hit
A sunny day with not a cloud in sight
Watching nine boys waiting anxiously for their chance at glory
Will any one of them make the play of a lifetime?
Finally the play is in action
Nothing but a red seam coming at me fast breaking into the zone
I send it right back into the outfield hitting nothing but grass.
Now I stand on first base thinking to myself
Will there be baseball in Heaven?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 4:22:57 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
