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