I really must say,
So sorry for the delay,
If with the ball,
we will play,
then for no rain,
we must pray.
Without a delay,
that sun must display,
a field of dirt,
and not of clay.
Mounded lumps,
it is not hay,
more coarse on feet,
than cocai-ne.
So be prepared,
To ply your trade,
Swing big bats and,
do not succumb to tirade.
Having fun,
And being gay,
Ryhming is easy,
there's no more to say.
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