Baseball’s pace matches my own,
a leisurely walk to first base,
from where I can survey
the vast field of my life,
from where I can reflect on
the blue of the sky,
and the green of the grass.
There’s no hurry at my age,
more time to watch the stillness of the pitcher
before he fires his fastball towards home,
more time to watch the batter at the plate
as he digs into his boxed life, making adjustments,
trying to launch the ball and his career,
and finally, more time to enjoy the kids
who, with innocence, look up to their heroes.
There’s no need for me to steal second,
to hurry up and round the bases.
There’s plenty of need, though,
to stand still for the moment, take it all in,
and revel in the pleasures of the game.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME