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I step up to the plate and the first pitch is tossed.
Strike one is called out, but I feel a little lost.
I see the audience but things are not as they seem.
They come and they go, just like in a dream.

The second pitch is coming so I ready myself to swing.
I drift back to the people and to the plate what they bring.
The ball comes toward me but curves to one side.
All of a sudden strike two is what is cried.

I start to get nervous my palms start to sweat.
One more strike shall be all that I get.
As I realize that I only get one more strike.
I try to tell myself to get this one right.

I stand at the plate and wonder of the game.
Will I get a hit or strike out in shame.
I’m not all that certain what will be my fate.
I just have my hope as I bang my bat on the plate

The pitch is delivered and I make some contact
I run my fastest and I just don’t look back.
I made it to first; I will need help to get home.
As the next batter step up I’m on base alone.

He hits the ball sharply it goes out of the park.
The lights just turn on to relinquish the dark.
I make it back home I hear the crowd cheer.
Three strikes haven’t come and I’m still here.

I didn’t hit a homerun yet I made it home.
I just needed some help, I couldn’t do it alone.
Still I scored and I have another chance.
So I step back to the plate and hope to advance.

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