A BASEBALL DREAM    



 On a farm he grew up, the early days of the game,   



 A bat of his own was made from a tree that stood alone.    



 He had a name for his bat, a certain magic it contained,



 Circumstances would get in the way, a dream put aside.



 Disappeared without a trace until he arrived on a day,



 His special bat carried in hand, this was to be his 
 Last chance.


 For only a moment he would stand beneath the lights,



  A baseball dream before he faded into the night.


                  Keith Garrett