Baseball Poem

Three Run Homers, or, Rupert Brooke Celebrates Baseball

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a three
Run homer when the team is pressed
Against the wall and quite distressed,
A homer that may at evening scare
A nighthawk circling in the air,
Or, 'neath the arc lights blazing bright,
Restore the score and set things right,
Rescue the pitcher and save the game,
And set the home team crowd aflame:
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only heroes knock in three.