In strange mysterious baseball games,

Some dreaming batter stands 

In a house-of-mirrors batters' box

And faces pitchers he can't see.

Fast balls come from anywhere,

And curves appear, and the batter doesn't know

Where the strike zone may be,

Or not be, or what pitch he's gotten on,

And suddenly he hears, "Strike threeee!"

And all he knows is that he's out,

And nothing else about the nature of the game.

But in my mysterious baseball dreams,

It seems I'm always "in the hole" or "on deck."

But no matter where I'm at,

I know I'll never get to bat,

And this recurring theme

Tells me that's exactly what this life is all about for me,

And that I should learn to enjoy the bench,

And dugout life,

And be thankful.

For, at least, I will never be out,

And I'll never hear the umpire shout,

"Strike THREEEEE!"

In regard to me.

-jenn