As April hailed them homeward bound
The Cubs returned to Wrigley
And in the bleachers could be found
The ghost of Richard Quigley
A Cub fan long, a Cub fan true
Whose spirit came to rest
Among the hallowed grounds that knew
Some of the very best.

Above the foul pole in left field
White flags flew high and proud
For those whose prestige came to yield
All that offense allowed
Yet, in the bleachers, every year
There was an eerie chill
That silently reigned in each cheer
And in each Cub game’s thrill.

The scene was thirty years removed
But the memory remained
Of how the Cubbies beat the Cards –
An April sweep obtained
Dear Richard had been in the stands
To witness that rare feat
The year before his fate was planned
And his life was complete.

As time went by, the Cardinals showed
They were the April kings
Spearing the Cubs whose pace had slowed
At the start of the spring
But, on his deathbed, Richard cried
“We will get them once more,
We will trudge on, we will abide
And in the end, we’ll score.”

“We will again command a sweep
In that first April meeting
We’ll find the Cards, that year, asleep
Thus worthy of defeating
And in that time, we’ll make our charge
For greatness come what may
Because the Cubs deem no task large
When Wrigley is in play.”

Their destiny took three decades
But in two thousand six
The Cubs and Cards met in the shade
Of Wrigley’s sacred bricks
To quench a feat, deemed quite forgone
When springtime rolled around
A blessed sweep of Cardinal brawn
By offense, strong and sound.

A Cub fan’s dying hunch was right
But, folks, that was not all
For if you look beneath the sight
Of ivy on the wall
You will detect a note inscribed
Upon the bricks within
In which Quigley’s lost pen described
A sure World Series win!

© 2006 – Jill Eisnaugle’s Poetry Collection