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

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