ivy clouds

from the cotton field

to wrigley field,

a tremendous hardship

that would ultimately yield

an icon.

stuffing  those bolls

into a sack

gave him the knack

for a sweet swing

that even made

the opposing team sing

his praises.

wiggling those fingers,

on the handle

of his bat,

was imitated

by every baseball

loving kid,

even though

they never knew

why he did.

a reflex,

a memory

that kept him humble

and aware.

the cubs will shine in ’69,

the cubs will come alive in ’65,

forever the optimist

but never crowned

a champion,

yet he played

with the heart

of a lion.

swatting  balls

over those

ivy covered walls,

“bingo-bango-bilko double play!”

that’s what the announcer

would say,

back in the day.

such a smooth stride,

a heavenly glide

to the bag,

ending with a laser beam

throw to first.

but all things end

and so did the sparkle

of his career.

he had to give up

the pastime

and the cheers,

which he held so dear.

from the negro league

to the majors,

he gave his all.

mr. cub proved

the doubters wrong,

with his gracefulness

in a game

played with

a little white ball.

follow wurdz on Twitter & Instagram @wurdzpoet @wurdzpix
~wurdz © 2015 all rights reserved