Lady Bug, Lady Bug, don't you fly home—
Stay till the ninth ere deciding to roam;
Don't you despair when the outlook seems blue,
Be a game Lady Bug—see the game through!
“Why does that man wear those things on his shins?”
“How can we tell, when it's over, who wins?”
“Which is The Umpire? Tell me, George, please,
And what do they mean when they call him a cheese?”
“Isn't that Matty, that little boy there?
What—that's the bat boy? Well, I do declare!”
“Why do they throw to that man on first base?”
“Hasn't that Indian got a fine face?”
“What do they mean when they yell at each other?”
“Don't you think Wiltse looks just like my brother?”
“Can't I keep score just as well without paper?”
“See Mister Latham, the way he can caper!”
“Isn't this grand? I could come here at noon!”
“Well, I declare! Is it over so soon?”
Lady Bug, Lady Bug, feathers and fuss,
Ask all the questions you want to of us.
Maybe we'll kid you, but, please, don't you care;
Baseball is better because you are there.
Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.