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The Outfielder's Dream

Wild was the night, yet a wilder night
Hung 'round the fielder's pillow,
For he dreamt that night of his wondrous might
With the ash, also known as the willow.
A few fond cockroaches lingered near,
From the mouldy moulding pouring;
They knew, by the sounds that smote the ear,
That the hard hitting demon was snoring.

They knew by the way he floundered there,
By the murmurs hastily spoken,
That he dreamed a bit of his home run hit
The day that the fence was broken.
They knew that he dreamed of his record grand,
His wonderful batting and fielding,
That he always hit safe when Ty Cobb fanned,
That he had the pitchers yielding.

Wild was the night in the farming town,
Wild as the wildest battle,
Then the father's voice rang out, "Come down
And feed them gol dern cattle!"
The cockroaches back to the moulding crept,
The sleeper rose from the clover;
And into his boots he deftly leapt--
The outfielder's dream was over.

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