by Samantha Sakolari
The batter stepped up to the plate
We were hoping it wasn’t too late
A home run we needed
So we all cheered and pleaded
Would this victory be left up to fate?
The first pitch the ump called a ball
The next pitch was fouled off the wall
The third pitch went high
Fourth prompted a sigh
As strike two was the umpire’s call!
The next pitch was called ball three
Then the crowd shouted with glee
As the last pitch soared far
And hit a parked car
Giving out team the victory!
Published in Limerick, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | 1 Comment