gkpoetry

Old high school friends of fifty years or more
Do congregate each year at warm spring shores
To watch their team, to talk baseball, perhaps
To recollect a youth already lapsed.

The fleeting days of a week go quickly by,
An anecdotal tear might gleam in their eyes.
They’re glad to be at inning seven’s stretch,
Though glory is no longer theirs to catch.

Yet hope springs at the stadium again,
From the young family of their late friend.
With smiles and cheers these seniors feel renewed,
This constant game inspires old fans anew.