It soars through the air, slicing the wind.
Like a fired missile, the ball is hit.
The runner treks to first, then to second,
But sighs as the ball lands in the fielder’s mitt.
Of men and might are stories told,
Of swords and strength and silver and gold.
Our hearts delight and our spirits hold,
The stories for young and stories for old.
An ocean blue
The morning hue
The beauty of a beach.
The wind swept sands
Where a jetty stands
But only white caps here to reach.
Upon the thrown in bliss,
With power, strength, and might.
King rules with hardened fist,
And never is contrite.
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