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
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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