I am an administrator on another site, this was written by Coach John Baker, he was also an admin for some time until heath forced his a bit more to the sidelines. I think the folks here deserve this bit...poetry was never my strong suit but Coach B. touched my heart with this, I hope the whole lot here get a similar tug.
A simple game of catch.
I took a walk to the park, and sat upon a bench,
I remembered all the good times here, then opened up my lunch.
As I unwrapped my bag and started to poke around,
a ball came by, rolling next to me, and bounced along the ground.
I picked it up then saw a kid, stretching out his glove,
he motioned to me to throw it over, with a smile upon his mug.
A handsome lad, with a baseball cap, wanting the ball I had,
and an older man, in his golden years, a man that he called dad.
As I watched the two throw back and forth this browns and scruffy ball,
I remembered how my dad and I, would play catch from spring to early fall.
And after every Sunday dinner, my mom would timely say,
“I’ll clear the diner table, why don’t you two go out and play”.
So my dad would grab his mitt, that had seen better days,
and I would wear my glove so proud for joy was on the way.
We’d toss around our scruffy ball for hours, father and son,
and my dad would smile and nod his head after every single one.
That wonderful time, is still in my mind, of those times that we played catch,
and as time went by, how I grew in size, but I never did forget.
My dad and I, so highly prized, just between us two,
a simple scruffy ball, that we both caught and threw.
As time went by, with greying hair, my dad would take his nap,
and I’d hold his old mitt and my old glove and rest them in my lap.
I watched him rest in his favorite chair, the one by the door,
and I knew our little games of catch would simply be no more.
As I watched the two in the park this father and his son,
I can see the dad with smiles on his face, as my dad had done.
And with every toss of this brown and scruffy ball,
I hope they enjoy this precious time, from spring to early fall.
As I sit back on my bench, and I think I wish I had,
but the only thoughts that come to me is, “I really miss you dad.”