The Seasons As They Are

Up from the alley comes a sound,

     To drive a fellow mad;

Ten thousand Pawnees are let loose,

     Or something full as bad.

The din floats o’er the window sill,

     And bursts upon my ear;

O no, ‘tis nothing serious –

     The marble season’s here.

I fly into the parlor still,

     Where quiet should be found;

Alas, up from the thoroughfare

     There comes a deafening sound.

Ding ding, ding dong, the whole day long,

     With voices shrill and clear;

No rest within my city home –

     The wheeling season’s here.

Out to the shady park I flee,

     And take my Homer there;

And picture rest and quietude,

     Out in the balmy air.

But God in Heaven! What is that,

     A thousand fife and drum?

O no, the Reds against the Blues,

     The baseball season’s come!

April 19, ‘99

Courier

May 21,

  ‘99