I keep trying and keep sighing,
As I propel it
The pigskin flying,
Far and high it soars across
A bright blue sky
It falls short of its humanly target.
I call to regret my short coming,
As I am sure angry he didn’t grab it.
But wrong was I,
It was spot on.
The hands who, I depended upon, slipped
The leather dropped and flipped.
I reached generosity down,
And clearly saw him frown.
Though he grabbed and stood,
I smiled as done is all what I could.
He smiled with the pigskin in hand,
We shrugged and went to do what we can.
About the Creator
Atrayu Sweet
Inspired by the beauty of the Pacific Northwest, and fueled by stories of all kinds since childhood, one of my favorite passions and goals is to connect and understand through the written word.
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Comments (1)
Nice, Love how you describe this one memorable moment. excellent poem.