Poem

The Perfect Performance

 

My kin approaches the white plate;

A pitch determines his future’s fate.

The barrel hits the teaming threads.

The runners advance to bases ahead.

His teammates stand quietly up.

The spinning ball wasn’t a pop up.

All the bases wait like hot sand bags,

As my kin runs free from infield tags.

The whistling fans applaud his fame,

As his opponents look on with distain.

My kin is honored with every stride.

As his team retires to end the side.

Just one more time to feel the fun.

As he scores another home run.

This National past time lingers at nights,

As young players luster under lights.

The Umpire records the winning hit.

Thank God for this victorious visit.

Darrel Venable