Brief wind
summer grassy park called me
to play my baseball.
The ball
throwing a strike
curved in, on a sail.
Thump
the sound of a ball
hitting a bat.
His magic
catching a high falling ball
ambushed like an eagle.
From hours to hours
green field shower after shower
gloves' chasing, a ball.
Beyond the sunset
and the moon-stars shine
hall of fame.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderful poem, I was almost there. Loved it.