by Owen P.
Yesterday we played, we played baseball
the pitcher pitched and I whacked the ball
it flew over Maine
and a Japanese train
it flew over a polar ice cap
it was seen by some English chaps
some soldiers saw it in Afghanistan
and as it flew it learned Uzbekistan
it flew over the Great Barrier Reef
in North Dakota it sampled some beef
but just as it landed in Moscow
the umpire called it foul
Owen P. is a fifth-grade student in Chicago.
Published in Fans, Food, Pure doggerel, The Game Itself, Youth | Link to this poem | 1 Comment