In the early spring,
When the grass is just turning green,
The pitcher is standing on the mound,
Ready to pitch to the other team.
All she can smell is the dirt on the ground,
And all she can hear are the players on the field,
Cheering her on to throw a strike,
So that she can build her confidence.
She releases the ball,
Just a little too late,
The batter swings,
And runs all the way to home plate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i guess you're the pitcher amanda.anyway, this is a one nice write.you better keep going gal!