Whilst hiking trail one fine spring day
I heard a sound from up ahead
I knew it well from youth's own play
‘Twas horsehide sphere in glove embed
Perhaps if I should ask polite
These tossers in yon open patch
I'd get from them a firm invite
To join them in their game of catch
But when I reached that grassy knoll
Where throws were being traded
I swear upon my very soul
The battery had faded