Ten baseballs in a yellow pail
for Coach to toss and me to hit.
Assume the stance, I swing and miss,
it slams into the catcher’s mitt.
Nine baseballs in that yellow pail,
my chance to sizzle with a bat.
The pitch comes buzzing past my ear,
I’m nearly hit, what’s up with that?
Eight baseballs in the yellow pail,
please find the strike zone with this throw.
The smack from contact stuns the crowd,
my homer livens up the show.
There’s seven baseballs in the pail,
I stretch to make that curve ball zing.
It pops up high into the sky,
too bad I didn’t thrash that thing.
Now six balls in my yellow pail,
I’ll hit it where the grass don’t grow.
The pitch comes straight down Broadway, nice.
I decked that thing then watched it go.
Five baseballs fill the yellow pail,
I put some English on that ball.
“Another ribbie on his plate!”
Imagine that’s how ump would call.
Four balls are left inside that pail,
a meatball glides straight to my bat.
My wallop sent it past the fence.
Impressed my coach, he tipped his hat.
Just three balls in my yellow pail,
I point like Ruth then set my stance.
A swing and miss, embarrassing,
With two more turns I’ll get my chance.
Two baseballs in the yellow pail,
I’ll send it deep, I will not fail.
I focus as he makes the throw,
Then crack it like a hammered nail.
Last baseball leaves an empty pail,
My turn at practice bats is done.
A dinger sends me running home,
I touch each base, a victor’s run.