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Blessed Be Baseball
The game was on! The cheers and roars
Rang Eastward to Long Island's shores;
“Come on, you Matty—show your class!”
“Oh, you Red Murray! Scorch the grass!”
“Heads up, Big Injun!” “Scoop 'em, Bridwell!”
“Devore stole home! And sure he slid well!”
These and a thousand other roars
Rang Eastward to Long Island's shores.
And folks of various sorts were there
From East Side yeggs to ladies fair;
Here a tragedian, there a joker,
Here a banker and there a broker.
Young dry goods clerks with booze clerks mingled,
And all sat in with nerves that tingled.
One white-haired woman sat alone,
Proud as a queen upon her throne.
One dear old lady, calm, sedate,
Age, very likely, eighty-eight.
“Isn't she sweet?” the women said;
“Look at that lovely silvery head!”
As in the sun she serenely basked
A rooter sitting beside her asked:
“How did you come to get away?”
“My grandson,” she answered, “died to-day!”
Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.