Forever in the Wind
Kicking tin cans clanging down a dusty red dirt road,
Tromping through the pine light, specks of sun and shade explode.
Quiet, steamy wind stirs the needles at our feet,
Sending up a sometimes roar that quells the summer heat.
We’re walking in our bare feet, but our soles are tough as leather,
We rise each day to play the game – in any kind of weather.
We’re on our way to the Sweet Lake Field – down by the Pokee River,
It’s time to pound the baseball ’round – and crush it to a sliver.
The sound of bats in metered bang – upon the rock-hard dirt,
It’s something just to do in time – we are warriors on alert,
As we jog and march and muscle and hop – our way to Saddler’s End,
The sandlot we are seeking – lays awaiting – ’round the bend,
And we are fast approaching – a day that has no end.
Where life on the summer sandlot – rolls on – forever’s friend.
Come home with your mind and soul – to the sandlot, even now,
If only for ten minutes – or so – let reverie be your plough,
Do it – and inhale, once more – the precious fragrance – of eternity.
The Pecan Park Eagle 
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