III.
Say, I’m the lemon leaguer on a slump;
In love’s ball game the bench is where I sit.
I couldn’t foul one, much less make a hit
Or tie the game up with a timely thump.
I had a chance to make good on the jump;
But when I tried to grab her little mitt,
I dropped it first, and then I fumbled it,
Playing the game like some bone-headed chump.
But when at last I got my eye and tried
To work the “squeeze,” she coached me to my place.
“Get back,” she warbled. “Slide, you lobster, slide;
Don’t take too long a lead from off your base:
Just play it safe, you mutt; first time at bat
Is not the place to spring a play like that.”