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.
A nice poem about lost but not forgotten dream. Such a great reminder to follow ours!