stopping by fenway on a chilly evening

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Last night, Ginger and I got to go to the Red Sox game, thanks to our friends Fez and Maggie. It was our first time in the park in five years. As I reflected on the train ride back today, I channelled Robert Frost.

Stopping by Fenway on a Chilly Evening

Whose house this is I think I know—
Been here a hundred years or so;
It’s so familiar stopping here
To watch the game and feel the glow.

We Boston fans all think it great
When  Papi steps up to the plate—
Tonight he even stole a base,
And helped our team to dominate.

We’re just beginning his last year,
So strange to think he won’t be here
To swing and smile and raise our hopes
And call us all to persevere.

Ortiz, he stands so Boston strong,
And on this night we all belong;
So good—we all can sing along,
So good—we all can sing along.

Peace,
Milton

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4 COMMENTS

  1. There are so many mysteries. The mystery of Fenway and Ted Williams; the universal center of love that bursts open in Jesus; the paste made from spit and dirt that opens blind eyes; and the maxi-mystery of how Milton knows which pan to pull out of the cupboard.

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