By Marion Shea-Light
It leaves the bat
and soars
high into the atmosphere.
Cutting through the clouds
it touches the mist,
wetting the ball
with nature’s tears.
It leaves the bat
and soars
high into the atmosphere.
Cutting through the clouds
it touches the mist,
wetting the ball
with nature’s tears.
Cool poem, Mom Shea – howdaheckYOUbeen?!?
I love this poem! And that’s my favorite type of home run — the high, soaring one with a great arc. Thanks for this!