They've gone,
not to return.
Sitting on the steps
of old cracked concrete,
sunrise shadows crowd the field
no voices, no chatter.
Gone the sounds of play
crack of bat,
whirr of baseball,
cover torn
flapping airborne.
Bases overgrown
with lack of use,
pidgeons play
in centerfield,
old rusty chain link fence
rattles idly in the summer heat.
Lone sparrow chirps
good-bye.
copyright 2006
John G. Lawless
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Magi