by Alan P. Rudy
With apologies to Joyce, but not Billy, Kilmer
I think that I shall never see,
A poem lovely as Yadi.
Yadi whose potent arm at rest,
Ceases the runner’s speedy best;
Yadi who chooses signs all day,
Leaving the hitter’s bats astray;
Yadi whose knees through wear and tear,
May platoon at first in late career;
Upon whose neck ink is lain;
And forearm rose he has attained.
Doggerel’s made by fools like me,
But Yadi amazes all who see.
Published in Players, Pure doggerel, St. Louis Cardinals | Link to this poem | 1 Comment