Poetic Reflections of Mankind

A baseball field was built in this quaint small town.

It was for little leaguers and the parents who gathered round.

The mowed grass was real, lush and green.

With two sets of bleachers, so everything could be seen.

Those bleachers were donated by the local hardware store.

They even placed their sign near the numbers of the score.

The fence around the field was done in light cedar wood.

With each board being perfectly even, as much as they could.

The dugouts were clean and painted before each season.

Probably done to show local pride, than any other reason.

Yes, this little field had been used for nearly fifty years.

The echoes still ring of home-run hitting cheers.

Now this town has grown many times its size.

And in the middle sits a field whose existence few realize.

Now the neighbors around this field do nothing but complain.

Of dented cars, wild fly balls and busted window pains.

The dozer is moving in, to clear this piece of land.

To make room for progress and the homes that are planned.

And there sits the driver, no matter how hard he tries.

He can’t help but show the tears in his eyes.

He knows of this place and the feeling that it does yield.

For he was a little leaguer, who had played on this field.