I, the sportswriter, clipped paper to pad
I saw the grass-stained, indestructible lad
He uprooted a stool with a gregarious gait
He assured my story would not have to wait
I, the sportswriter, scribbled a note
I felt at home and cleared my throat
He hesitated not a second to riposte
He retorted what he thought they understood most
I, the sportswriter, held my audience captive
I portrayed the athlete as alive and active
He audibly spoke about his desire to win
He untied his laces and delivered a wide grin
I, the sportswriter, overwhelmed and awed
I struggled to extenuate him and unintentionally hawed
He shook my hand as I continued to totter
He jokingly made me promise not to print this in the police blotter
Parting points: A little humor for this rainy Saturday.
Poem of the day- “A Song Of Myself” by Walt Whitman
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