The freshly cut grass,
Straight, slick, white lines
Morning dew coats the blades
The sweet smell of a new day.

Excitement fills your heart
Every stress burns away.
Pounding hearts slowly die,
As cleats are laced for the day.

A barrier keeps us separated.
Fear isn’t allowed past the line,
The line that lets me be me.
The closest place to heaven.

On this field today
Will step a team of girls,
Twelve girls with pride and will
Which will separate us from the rest.

There is no greater bond
Than the bond of a player and her kingdom.
This is her house,
A force to be reckoned with.

She is the president,
The citizens and the peasants
Everything there right now,
It’s under her control.

In that perfect center circle,
On an early Sunday morning,
Not a fear or worry should be present.
It’s her time to shine.

The parents may chant,
The coaches will yell,
But she’s got it.
The ump yells, “Strike-three.”