The haunt of Octobers of olde
the field named for Wrigley's grown cold
Faint echoes from bats
of men who wear spats
who late in the season don't fold
This season for Cubbies is toast
As always, they're missing the "post"
There's curses and theories
why Cubs won't host series
They ought to just give up the ghost
Each year the Cubs try to remold
Each year the fan's hope is fool's gold
But millionaire fans
hatch bankruptcy plans:
The team to a diehard's been sold
If you like baseball and poetry, you ought to visit
James Finn Garner's great site, Bard Ball.
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