Bethesda Field

Below the harsh lights in a late inning chill,

On third was a runner events could soon strand,

Repenting his sins while in truth sinning still,

He looked home to gather what fate would demand.

An old man arising at this godly hour,

Beyond any reason, by some fearsome whim,

A wonder of nature who once hit with power,

But no one expects more heroics from him.

The fans all despair at the count, oh and two,

Hope slipping away, as statistics revealed

No viable chances. The young pitcher threw,

A swing, and the ball lifted out to right field.

An arc of redemption appeared in the sky,

The run scored from third on a sacrifice fly.