Shakespearean Baseball Sonnet #7
Lo, in the Orient was the graceful light:
No words left for him to conquer at home,
He would become an Occidental sight.
Playing the game with sacred majesty,
He would scale the top of the outfield wall
And sit there to take a homer away.
And he would dare the baserunners to run
On the arm from the Land of the Midnight Sun.
And facing the fastest pitches with care
He could deftly place the ball anywhere.
On base he'd disrupt a pitcher's rhythm
And then steal bases any time on him.
And though late through the American portal,
The beauty of his game is immortal.
Bio: "Michael Ceraolo is a retired firefighter/paramedic and active poet who has had one full-length book (Euclid Creek, from Deep Cleveland Press) and a few chapbooks published (among the chapbooks is Cleveland Haiku, from Green Panda Press). He has a second full-length book, Euclid Creek Book Two, forthcoming from unbound content press, and is continually working on new and existing poetry projects