(The author of the poem below is Troy Lovett, a retired high school math teacher living in Louisville. The poem came to me through a long time Kentucky friend who regularly sends baseball and other good, current writing, and I think received a copy of the poem in a recent email.)

 

The Last Days of September

The last days
of September carry with them a sense
of change; a longing for what is
fleeting; a remembrance of what is no more;
and an awareness of approaching winter.
Days are filled with a little of all that–warm afternoons, chilly nights, bluer skies,
less daylight, and warm cider.

There is urgency in the precious last days
of autumn. Squirrels and birds scurry to beat the night’s cold and we
unpack winter sweaters and knitted scarves and brace for change.

The greatest game
follows its inevitable path toward conclusion with
athletes playing through the wear and tear of a long season, trying to
find the resources to make one final push
for glory. For some it is the morning of a promising career; for others
the evening of a journey through paradise passing far too soon.

For the players, and for us,
we sense, as at no other time,
that the game goes on and we are fleeting;
that what is real is much more than what is seen;
that life is a prelude to a greater glory;
that we have been blessed in incalculable ways
to have played another season; and that life
and the game are gifts from a Father’s love.

There are lessons to be learned from
late September days.

Sleep warm, my dear friend.