I trudge around an ancient baseball ground,
For the fifth time, stepping over weeds,
Near the end of a day, when fireflies abound...
I pause in my circling to swat at a fly,
Then look-up, and am stunned to see what's around...
And above -- a priceless painting on high,
A cloudless cobalt sky, which the sunset leads
To a twilight glow-conclusion, devoid of sound,
Crisscrossed by golden shining vapor trails
The gifts of jets' propulsion needs...
Oblivious to the miracle I have found,
My daughters kick a ball and cry
To join them, but their urging fails
To dispel the magical moment in time,
When a heavenly light-show was briefly mine.
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