Baseball

The little boy dragged his bat,
And stepped up to the plate.
He watched the ball come flying by,
And swung a bit too late.

His teammates saw him striking out
And glared at him with blame.
The coach cheered on the losing team;
While he sat alone in shame.

Back at home the child cried,
And wouldn't play again.
The father held him in his arms;
This little boy of ten.

That year the father and his son
Practiced day and night.
The father told him not to quit;
Without putting up a fight.

You owe it to yourself, he said,
To give this game your all.
It used to bring you pleasure, son,
This simple game of ball.

Go back out there and play, my boy,
And get a hit for your dad!
No matter if you win or lose;
You still will make me glad.

The bigger boy went up to bat;
His hat turned to the side.
His dad was cheering from the bench;
His eyes were swelled with pride.

Since the last time he had played;
He must have grown an inch.
For when the ball flew at his bat,
He didn't even flinch.

He swung the bat with all his might,
And hit the ball smack on!
As he rounded past first base,
His coach yelled, "that one is gone!"

Because he hit that perfect shot,
His team took home the win;
But what he remembered from that day,
Was the joy he felt within.

His teammates gathered in a crowd;
But to his dad he ran;
He slapped him five, up high and low,
And hugged his biggest fan.

"You did it son, I knew you could,
That ball was surly flying.
You just had to still believe,
And never give up trying."