Opening Day

The field, a canvas of emerald green,
Fresh chalk lines sharp and clean.
Sunlight spills, warm and wide,
Stadium gates swing open with pride.

Leather gloves oiled and tight,
Bats lean heavy, maple and pine.
A thousand voices hum with delight,
Stitching hope into every line.

Pitchers wind, shoulders loose,
Seams spin true, fast and cruel.
A crack like thunder, white against blue,
Infield dirt kissed by leather and fuel.

Eyes trace arcs in the sky’s expanse,
Outfielders poised, lithe in stance.
The crowd inhales, a breath held long,
Spring’s anthem rising, bold and strong.

Hot dogs, peanuts, banners that sway,
Children with gloves, eyes wide and bright.
Scoreboards flash, innings to play,
Under soft sun’s lingering light.

Old ghosts stir in dugouts and seats,
Legends etched deep in ivy and brick.
Stories retold in slow summer heats,
Moments suspended, timeless and quick.

Opening Day, where dreams ignite,
With every pitch and dust-cloud rise.
Hope rounds the bases, daring flight—
In baseball’s promise, summer lies.