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Posted by MFish

I was young. It was Spring.
The Seattle Times, did this thing
That challenged youths pitching skill.
A wooden frame, of rectangular shape,
With a middle cut out, or "strike zone."
The object, was to throw strikes,
Until you threw four balls.
The contest winner, was the one
Who threw the most strikes,
Before they did finally succumb
With four balls or a walk you see,
And it was fortunately me.
A big event in the eyes of mine
A picture of me throwing strikes
In the Sports section, Seattle Times.
A great memory for me to share
About a success, where they weren't aware.

The randomness of words,
lay on my plate.
Too many words may come
and they will suffocate.
The thoughts that are now
running through my head,
wishing they were happy,
but No; fearful instead
The words have become hateful;
not what they should be,
for I care for my own
and for strangers too,
as life has given pause
of what one can do.
A scary situation. It's been hard,
for if you are not diligent
and let your down your guard
you could be the victim
of Co-vid nineteen.

I pray to the heavens.
I utter no sound,
For my prayer in
Words, cannot be found.
I pray for the souls
Of those struck down,
By the virus, Pro-vid 19;
One of the words pandemic
The World has ever seen.
What do we do?
Where do we stand
When it has been months
And there still is no Plan.
No plan from the current regime,
Who doesn't care one little ounce,
But looks only at the Stock market bounce.
A terrible choice, at least to me
As the decisions made, lives in infamy.

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