Stopping by Fields on a Golden Afternoon

September 09, 1994|By Thomas N. Longstreth

(with apologies to that old-time baseball fan, Robert Frost) Whose fields these are I think I know.

They've all gone home in anger, though;

They will not see us stopping here

To watch their fields while they no-show.

The little kids must think it queer

To end without the Series near,

And know not what old records break

In this stupendous hitting year.

They give their parents' arms a shake

To ask if there is some mistake

The only other sound's the sweep

Of falling leaves and fan-tailed rake.

The baseball people's greed is deep.

They see no promises to keep,

And in that arrogance they sleep

While Jackie and the Babe do weep.

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