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