I wrote the following for Jonesy -- my lover of baseball, my Cleveland Indians fanatic -- more than 20 years ago for his birthday.Happy Birthday, my dear, you now are the ethereal one.
Diamond Dust
The sweet season of summer sandlot dreams is
entering the ninth inning and
wanna-be Sultans of Swat are
performing their swan songs.
The slowing staccato of crickets warns these
dream boys that their playgrounds will soon be
sacrificed to Autumn's frost and
Winter's white.
Even the balladeers --
translators of this ethereal, ephemeral game --
will be in hiatus;
their boys of summer stealing home
(for a short-stop) trading
leather mitts for woolen.
Hey Laura,
ReplyDeleteI spent some time today looking at the beautiful book you made us of pictures of Ron's life. You titled it: In Memory of A Brother.
I love you so much, Laura.
You are the living part of Ron . . .
I thank God for your life. Keep pressing on. He'd be so proud of you.
Lesa