Baseball is a Technicolor Morning


The sandlot ghosts have long since flown

No longer do we hear them moan

Their cries through summer nights cannot pervade us.


Still the sounds and sights ~ of close game fights

The slosh of sweats ~ with no regrets

Do echo hearts and minds that once portrayed us.


To feel again that sandlot cling ~ oozing into everything

Awakens like a technicolor morning ~ So rest the mind

There is no season’s end ~ Baseball is Forever.



Bill McCurdy

Principal Writer, Editor, Publisher

The Pecan Park Eagle




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