Baseball runners like a herd <br />storming the first base, <br />reach the second and the third. <br />Pitchers whom they face <br />hate to see them heading home, <br />welcomed by their mates, <br />leaving exiled where they roam, <br />fouls and flies the fates <br />of most members of the team. <br />Everyone’s astounded <br />once they blow a head of steam <br />with all bases rounded. <br />In Babylon the exiles will <br />not make a diamond field, <br />feeling not at home until <br />exile has been healed. <br />Neither fans nor mere spectators, <br />players every one, <br />they await a change of status, <br />records call a run. <br /> <br />4/3/06<br /><br />gershon hepner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/home-again/
