It’s Opening Day, Poetry People! You didn’t think I’d miss that, did you? Here is a poem (a version with photos is at the bottom of the screen) by writer, poet, and inspirational speaker Emery Greye of Madisonville that captures the wonder of baseball and spring. He told me he wrote it for his grandson. Lucky grandson!
Another Magical Spring
When I was a just little boy
I couldn’t wait for spring
I’d oil my mitt, the sun would shine
And all the birds would sing
And for fifty years of winter ends
The ice and snow would melt
We’d grab for balls and bats each day
I still remember how great it felt
We had a diamond built next door
We’d race to pick our teams
And play all day till dinner time
At least that’s how it seemed
The shed in left was a two base hit
If you flew it, a homerun
The fence in center was Portman’s farm
But you had to hit that ball a ton
And on Sundays after church we’d meet
And do the ground crews duty
We’d mow the base path grass so tight
Our field was such a beauty
I’ve played or coached now fifty years
Still can’t wait to hear that call
Two words that start another spring
When the umpire yells “Play Ball”
Pauletta Hansel 