“Son in t-ball, pre-k and summer approaching”

Small hands wrap round leather white,  
A blue cap tilts against the sun—  
Oh, to witness his beginner’s might,  
My son, in t-ball fun begun.  
  
He stands, uncertain at the plate,  
The world a field of endless green,  
Coach’s words he contemplates,  
The smallest player on the team.  
  
Beside the rubber, shoes untied,  
He tracks a butterfly in flight,  
Half here, half in the winds outside,  
Half learning what it is to fight.  
  
Pre-K art hangs on the fridge with pride—  
A rainbow, stick men, yellow sun,  
Letters crooked, colors wide,  
Another year near finished, done.  
  
Soon summer smells of cut grass call,  
Sprinklers chime their laughing rhyme,  
A glove left waiting by the wall—  
Adventure dreams for longer time.  
  
Behind the fence, the mothers cheer,  
Fathers pace with wide, proud grins—  
A childhood summer hurries near,  
With scraped-up knees and sun-warmed wins.

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