Once upon Sunday sunny, waiting for the next at bat,

I pondered earlier matches and contests I had played of late--

While musing, from the pitcher's mound I heard a tapping,

The batter's bat, tap tap tapping on home plate.

'Strike him out!' Cried the crowd, anxious for a win this day

'Throw the ball,' I urged myself 'I cannot wait.'

The ball was hit, he made a single, an angry crowd screamed my name

Next batter up to the plate, with a chance to win the game

Two men were out, and three were on, the diamond was my stage

My eyeball on the batter's stance, knowing what I threw before

And watched the missile flying, flying fast toward his bat--

He didn't swing and some rowdy crow cawed, 'Ball four!'

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A/N: apologies to Poe and the flip on Ernest Thayer's 'Casey at the Bat'.