by Stephen Jones
It is, so far, a winter to remember.
Our dreams in the Northeast
Are huddled in a Valley Forge.
Our ballparks have been seized,
Taken by the “white coats” of snow
But in places to the south,
With names like St. Lucie and St. Pete,
The “Sons of Liberty” are unlimbering
They are pitching and catching;
They are heeding the call:
To arms! To arms!
Pitchers and catchers — to arms!
Published in Boston Red Sox, Fans, New York Mets, New York Yankees, Philadelphia Phillies, Players, Pure doggerel, The Game Itself, Toronto Blue Jays | Link to this poem | No Comments