Yadi

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.