She wiped the top of her head and tips of her hair with her sleeve
Her competitive heart taught her it was too soon to leave
Inside the black webbed glove, a ball rested at peace
The batter in front of the backstop waited for her release
Squatting behind was a catcher with a target to strike
She swiped the sand surrounding the rubber with her spike
Her repetitive motion was readily acquired somewhere in time
The hit from the swing rattled the ring of a clanging chime
Walking away were the evaporating sounds of nine silent sighs
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