Friday, December 5, 2014

Summer Poem

The hot summer sun beats down on me
My teammate on third just stole home
Another run for the Shamrocks
Smells of dirt lingered the air
As she slid in
I look at the batting order
Im up next. #24
I step up to the plate
All I can see is the pitcher
And the ball
I grip the bat hard
Fury is the only thing I feel

I can even taste it

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