Our mission: to explore the perfect swing,

The easy uppercut, the solid sound,

The bat directed smoothly to the ground,

The skyward peek to see what’s taking wing.

The ball is launched, and soon our eyes project

The missile’s life ahead, its quick ascent,

Its long, lingering peak, the slow descent

From grand success to accomplished respect.

But suddenly, an unexpected hand

Just reaches up and catches us off guard,

Abruptly snatching down our visions, hard:

Our dreams don’t always end the way we planned.

We rage at being victims of deceit,

Misled by expectations; this foul theft

Aborts our lofty dreams, and all that’s left

Is the unbearable arc, incomplete.