The young boy
in the outfield
takes his finger out of his mouth
He picks a dandelion
and throws it in the air
The young girl on first
kicks the dusty dirt
She wipes her mouth with her sleeve
They are playing America's
favorite pastime
not yet knowing it's past its time
The childless coach stands
behind the fence
His game and body well past its prime
Dreams so much bigger then
Dreams so much more real when-
when we are young
and life seems to not yet have begun
He still remembers when his
Pa sat him down
He said "son"
"Remember to always have fun"
"I know it ain't much"
and handed him a glove
He would sleep with the mitt
He had found his true love
Now his knees ache all through
the day
while he cuts marble for blue-collar pay
Once in awhile late at night
He thinks of that fateful day in late may
when the Cardinals called him up
and asked him to stay
All that is left
is a closet in the basement
He doesn't open anymore
An old rusty lock
An old dark door
Priceless treasures lay inside
memories of a career that curled up and died
owners who lied
fans who cheered, booed, and sighed
women on the road and tears he cried
Now each Saturday he watches
boys just like him
dreaming in the sea of green
Not yet understanding that dreams are just dreams
or so it seems…
