Dear
Poetry
Fans,
I found the most interesting poem yesterday when I was thumbing through the "Baseball Digest," from August 15, 1987. I was looking over some old baseball cards I had examining the edges and looking for creases. I wanted to see what they were worth.
There is a certain quality to the poem that I can't describe.
I want to share it with you.
Wanderlust
Heading along the traveled road,
Aware of the limpid stream,
Time quickens as the passing fancy
Carries intrepidly, haltingly,
Far further than the caravan,
On either side of the cold river,
Too cold even for the Yachmir.
Are you thrilled, or aren't you?
