south of here the boys of summer
are planting the seeds of spring
thawing out their throwing arms
weeding out all the errors they can
practicing and pitching, stealing
a little extra daylight each evening
in a month they will head north
(at least the ones I care about)
along with daylight and daffodils
to teach us again how to dream
how to make a moment last forever
and most of all how to fail gloriously
in this story of heroes and heartbreak
of what might be and almost was
I find myself waiting and watching
there is gospel in those grandstands
and forgiveness in those fields
ye who are weary come home
Peace,
Milton
Milton, you’ve gotta have faith. Go Sox! Mary
You bet.
Wonderful.
For 20+ years, I have associated you with “Tell them what they’ve won, Milton / It’s the new Kiiiiimballlllllll piano.” The baseball lover and Jesus lover in me think that this poem may eventually replace that.
Thanks, Brendt. I still have a little of the old stuff in me, too.
Peace,
Milton
Wonderful to meet you tonight (at Lynnette and Sam’s). Your words were moving and inspirational. And, as I told you personally, this poem is especially meaningful. Despite your Sox proclivity, as a fan of THE evil empire, I believe such differences can be transcended. Honestly, I don’t think either of our teams are going to win the division this year.
Thanks, John. It was great meeting you as well.
Peace,
Milton