by Stephen Jones
Doesn’t matter which team you like —
Pitchers and catchers start this week.
“This year it’ll be different,” you avow . . .
Based on what you don’t know right now.
No matter — speculation and hope abound,
And never touch winter’s frozen ground,
And while right now it might be cold and gray,
Dreams float like clouds on a summer day.
Published in Fans, Pure doggerel, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | 1 Comment