Rolling feet


The squeal of a whistle,
the rustle of trees,
I refuse to let the ball get past me.

Feet smack the ground, colors fly like banners to show the individuality of each runner,
the tremendous uproar rattles the stands,
as do well rigged fans.

That ball shall not pass me….

I am ordered to switch out with “Tiny”,

And I’m sent out to the field.

My own colors fly,
aqua and white,
in MY eyes,

Its a great sight…

Rain muddies the ground,
bringing the animals out from all.

Screams of defiance,
I’m almost at the goal,
I mightily thrust my foot, and-


I fall on my back.

But fate is in my favor,
and triumphant roars ring,
the coach bellows:


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