Nine times three equals twenty-seven
It is the threshold of Baseball heaven
No runs, no hits, no errors a perfect game
For the hurling Giant Mr. Matt Cain
We all took notice in inning number five
That none of the batters were yet to survive
In the top of the 6th Snyder drives one deep
Cabrera’s speedy catch brings the batter to weep
The frames are mounting; the strike-outs are cooking
There were seven swinging and seven looking
An exhilarating excitement is overtaking the crowd
They’re clamoring for perfection and cry it out loud
Jordan Shafer slams a ball deep into the gap
But you’ll never catch Blanco taking a nap
There‘s an impossible race to make this play
The dive, the catch, it is baseball ballet
The crafty Giant pitcher is all inspired
He’s still got his stuff, Matt Cain is wired
Jason Castro is the twenty seventh batter
A collective hush quiets the crowd’s chatter
The often nimble Arias covers the third base line
Castro blisters a grounder like it came from a carbine
Arias plays it deep with a hint of a fumble
Guns it to first, Astros leave the field with a mumble
On the thirteenth of June it was 27 up and 27 down
Against the Astros from Houston town
In San Francisco a GIANT wind blows
We witness baseball’s show of shows
THE POETRY OF THE GAME