By HoraceClarke66
With apologies to Lt. Col. John McCrae
In Citi Field, the Metsies lie,
Beneath the jet-congested sky.
Their arms have faltered one-by-one,
Their bats have failed, they cannot run
And Cespedes doth pound his thigh.
They are the Dead. Short days ago
They lived, won games, saw Mickey Calloway glow.
Loved and were loved–
By Mets fans, anyway.
Then their prospects died in May.
Take heed, ye fans, and observe the fate
Of the team whose owner craves real estate.
His dreams are not filled with rings or pennants
But wealthy European tenants.
He does not care if the seats are cold
In Citi Field, where the Metsies fold.
This parody first appeared on the Yankee blog, It is High, It is Far, It is . . . caught.