A very good friend of mine set me a poem that I changed a bit to fit the topics.
KIDS TO REMEMBER
I sit alone and pen out my memories in words.
Remembering the glories from home plate to third.
The swiftness of feet; the true aim of my arm,
when homers were blessings, and three outs the charm.
It mattered so little, that my field; made of sand,
was not gated, nor sanctioned; spectators would stand.
And mixed in the sidelines, some moms, a few dads,
and a youngster or two who's skills were just sad.
I was one of those kids, the ones who can't play,
my talent was lacking, I was lost in the fray.
But at little patch of dirt, some fellas picked me,
I was part of the glory, the glory to be.
Our kids were so special, each kid had a shot.
from baseball to swimming, we all found a spot.
And it wasn't one adult who caused us to blend,
Twas kids just like you, who were kindhearted then.
So, I'm sorry that summer has passed now to fall,
The words now exclude you when the ump calls: Play Ball!
That invite has passed, as it rightfully should,
to the next generation who stand where you stood.
Give thanks to your Maker, that you were a part,
of a game that you turned from a sport to an art.
One of these days we will sit on a lawn;
Remembering our youth at a time that's long gone.
We'll smile with a tear, for those days were so sweet,
Quick hands were the norm... we had wings on our feet.
Those scores: long forgotten, what more can we say,
It was never the numbers... Twas always the play!