To the major leagues

If I don’t make it

To the major leagues

By twenty seventeen

I only will be a dreamer

With a teenager’s dream

I wrote of hope and how to cope

Of wives and one’s own life

Of little boys and little toys

And girls with many curls

Of living stones and kings and thrones

Of cool and sweet ice cream cone

And things that are now gone

Clone of a lonely song sung by a clown

Books that are made and sold and fold

Photo by English Rose247 Photo by bortescristian