I stepped up to the plate,
with my old, familiar stance,
thinking my set routine,
would parry the pitcher’s prance.
The first was a curved ball,
curiously spun with such intrigue.
I watched it drift in, then away,
off the plate. A ball!
The next was a fast-ball, right on line.
I swung too early, too locked up in dreams,
Convinced I...
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