Ode to the Passing Season


They depart, the men in blue,
And red,
And sometimes black and orange,
Or even gold.
They depart to a land we can only dream of""
To rest, to grow, to change.
When they return,
Will they remember what they are to do?
They'll play. They'll fight.
But the victor will not be revealed in the first night,
Or in a week,
Or in a month,
Or maybe even in an entire Summer.
Timing will be everything:
Not too early or strength may fail;
Not too late or strength may fail.
And yet . . . and yet . . .
When the Winter is past and, lo, the birds' songs return,
Then Cardinals and Orioles, Rays, and Blue Jays,
Royals, Rangers, Mariners, and Giants
Will hie to the verdant field, disperse to the diamond,
And begin the dream again.

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