HE HOBBLES lamely from the bench, He glooms upon the hill— His arm is gone—he has no speed, Wherewith to shoot the pill; He has no curves, and nothing but His memory and will! You'd think the kids would knock his shoots Far past the farthest stand— You'd figure they would slaughter him With hits to beat the band— But, just on what he KNOWS, he holds Those boys with iron hand! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HER LETTER by FRANCIS BRET HARTE A BIRTHDAY by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI CARPE DIEM by JEAN ANTOINE DE BAIF ANNUNCIATIO B.V. by JOSEPH BEAUMONT TO CHILDREN: 5. DAME HOLIDAY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |