by John M.
Goodbye, Grandyman…
Though I never knew you at all
You had the grace to swing away
While those around you walked
They crawled out of the woodwork
And they whispered into your brain
They set you on the homer porch
And they made you change your game
And it seems to me you swung your bat
Like blowing out a candle in the wind
Never knowing what to swing at
When the pitch came in
And I would have liked to have known you
But I was just a fan
Your average burned out long before
You became an also-ran
This post first appeared in the comments at It Is High, It Is Far, It is … Caught. Â