Shall I compare thee to a new baseball
The ball that shall bring hours of enjoyment
Two hundred sixteen stitches all in all
Out of the whole game, you make up fifty percent
Your outside skin as smooth as the big ocean
The middle cork five and one fourth ounces
Watching your spin so cool, in slow-motion
The game can go whichever way it bounces
Yet there are no new baseballs this season
A summer game as one may even say
A drought of leather that is the reason
A new Baseball is well worth what you pay
Perhaps a new wood bat will have to do
The season almost upon us, ya-hoo!
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