Aristotle bows contemplative,
over a statue not native
To either Montreal or DC;
A Bust, Nay-
A Huge Bust,
The scowling Matt-
A manager awash in sudden
In-famy!
Mayhap in May, He may wipe
Away, a sad Spectre
Of silent Bats.
What Say? Yon fair haired
Bryce, a Hit, you say?
Would, Could Yunel
Or fellow team mates,
Rendon, Werth or Zim-man
With arms Swinging,
Not A-kimbo;
Foretell
An expanded score,
O’er Fish, Metropolitans
To even, commit the
dreaded ‘Lantean Braves
To a well deserved
Baseball limbo–
The like in which,
Our belov’d Nats(!)
Have dwelt
Far too long, and then
We shall Yawp,
a Joyful Series song.
