I think of all the time I spent
At baseball fields
From all turf to all dust
From frozen mornings to blistering afternoons
From New York to Florida
Mostly Bluegrass in between.  

Two sons and twenty-odd teams
We won as many as we lost
And note the “we.”  

A parent’s heart is in each at-bat
A father’s nerves field every grounder
And pity the parent of a pitcher
I was.  

They’re grown up now
And off the field
But after all that time
Baseball never leaves me.